


let's cut a covenant

by bestliars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 21:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15917025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestliars/pseuds/bestliars
Summary: An account of the 2021 season, in which Nino brings home a rookie, and Mikke is so accustomed to such nonsense that he doesn't even put up a fight.





	let's cut a covenant

**Author's Note:**

> Today is my BIRTHDAY and if I want to post an unbetaed WIP that might never get finished then I CAN. This story should have four sections. The second half written, the last two are barely outlines. I promise you this will at some point reach some sort of conclusion.
> 
> I started writing this AGES ago, so there are a lot of incorrect predictions, such as Granny playing center, or when Kaprizov starts playing with the Wild. Some of these I left because they're thematic elements, but mostly it's because I'm lazy. There are still a few filler words, but you can use your imagination. Who do you think will be coaching the Wild in 2021? 
> 
> The title is from "Time to Die," by Car Seat Headrest, which I listened to endlessly while writing this fic.

PART ONE: the fall

Mikke waits in the airport in Helsinki. He has his sunglasses, his headphones, and high hopes that no one talks to him. There’s no one he wants to talk to until he lands in Zurich. 

Nino has all his flight information, and promised not to be late. Mikke trusts this. Nino said he’ll be waiting at the baggage claim, even though Mikke said he doesn’t have to. Mikke wishes he didn’t have a checked bag. He’s only going to be in Switzerland for a week and a half before they leave for the States, but he wouldn’t be able to take his skates as a carry on. He understands the reasoning, but really, it would take an unreasonable amount of effort to hurt someone with a hockey skate. But that’s why the rules are they way they are, because some people are unreasonable. The world is dangerous.

There’s news on the television in the airport lounge. It’s probably bad news. Mikke does his best to ignore it. He has enough things to worry about before getting to the rest of the world. Will the boxes he sent to the Cities make it there before him? They should, but he doesn’t trust the international postage system. It’s always been fine before, but still, he worries.

He doesn’t like traveling on his own. There aren’t enough distractions traveling on his own. He hardly ever has to do it, and it’s miserable. Maybe he just needs practice. It’s something he could get better at, if there was the right incentive. If there was the something worthwhile waiting on the other side.

Maybe he’ll leave a set of skates behind with all of Nino’s stuff. Then he’ll have skates there next summer, and he won’t have to think about it, and won’t have to check a bag. He thought about it last summer, but then didn’t. He’s there for maybe a week at the end of every summer, and even though he’s started counting on that, even though he doesn’t think that will change, leaving an old set of skates behind seems like an unreasonable commitment. His conclusion may be the unreasonable thing.

The flight starts boarding. They scan his ticket and he gets to sit somewhere else and ignore the world around him there. He booked a window seat, and hopes desperately that no one is put next to him. Traveling alone means there’s no one around to make him seem occupied, and there’s no one else to deal with conversations he doesn’t want to be a part of. Nino is so good at that.

He gets lucky and gets the row to himself, saved from small talk. He doesn’t mind the actual flying, doesn’t need to hold anyone’s hand during take off. He likes this part: the acceleration, the fleeting sensations of weightlessness.

They level out, and the stewardess comes around with a cart. He pays too much for a tiny bottle of alcohol that he pours into his half full iced coffee. This isn’t so bad. He’s going to be fine. He’ll land in Zurich, and Nino will be there, and they’ll wait together for his checked bag to come down the carousel. 

Nino’s going to turn twenty-nine at the end of the week. His birthday alway marks the end of their time in Europe. Mikke goes to Chur for the party, and then they leave for Minnesota. It’s a solid routine.

Nino seems unconcerned by the number twenty-nine, which is only one away from thirty. Mikke struggled with that in February, but half a year later he’s accepted their fate. Twenty-nine hasn’t been too terrible. They’re starting to get old. Older. That’s just how it is. He trained hard this summer, like he has every summer, but it seems to take more and more out of him. Everything is more exhausting.

He finishes his drink, and another. The plane lands, he gets to disembark. Nino is there, waiting for him, like he said he would. He’s tan and wearing a goofy hat. Nino hugs him. Mikke hugs back. He gets them more coffee while Nino waits for his bag.

He gets back just in time to watch Nino haul the suitcase off the conveyor, the muscles of his arms flexing. Mikke’s missed him. He isn’t going to say this, but Nino knows. It’s an established fact. They get Mikke’s bag in the boot of the car, get driving.

When they get to Chur Mikke can’t just nap on Nino’s couch until he finds the energy to have sex. There’s party planning. Nino likes using his birthday as an opportunity to say goodbye to everyone until the next summer. He has a big family and a plenty of friends. Nino opens up to people easily, which Mikke admires, as much as it frustrates him.

That first night he’s in town there’s an unavoidable family dinner. Mikke’s stuck making stilted small talk with Nino’s parents, trying not to crack up while Nino’s sisters kids make faces at him across the table. Nino’s family is much more boisterous than his, which would be bad enough without the language barrier. So many people talking in German all at once can get overwhelming. 

Nino’s birthday party has some of that too, but there’s more drinking, and he doesn’t want to impress anyone. They’ve been together long enough that he’s gotten to know Nino’s better childhood friends. They’ve all found a way to communicate with their patchwork English vocabularies, trying for Nino’s sake. Mikke enjoys it, even if this isn’t the sort of party he’d chose for himself.

They don’t get to bed until late, and let themselves sleep in the next morning. They have a few more days. The morning before their flight Mikke helps Nino throw the last few things in boxes and suitcases. They always end up leaving these things until the last minute. 

They have so many bags. Mikke’s back at the Zurich airport, hiding behind the largest coffee he could find. The company is better this time. The flight to the Cities is long, but not terrible. It’s familiar. They know how to sleep on the plane, how not to annoy each other too horribly. 

They get a cab from the airport to the house because that’s easier than dealing with one of their friends. The house is still standing, the lawn neatly mown, the shrubs welcomingly pruned. The front entryway is crowded full of boxes. Mikke opens the door, and is immediately started by Mittens jumping off a pile of boxes and darting towards his feet. It seems like the cats missed them. From the pictures Agnes sent it looked like they enjoyed their summer, but they’re happy to have their guys back now.

Nino ignores the boxes in favor of picking up Mittens while trying to pet George at the same time, but Mikke doesn’t want to waste time or get scratched. Someone should start to unpack. The sooner they get this done the better. They have a life to settle into. 

This will be their eighth season playing together. They’ve been together for most of that, even if it wasn't serious in the beginning. This will be their sixth year living together, and their fourth in this house on the lake.

They bought the house when their friends started to settle down and leave downtown. They didn’t want to move out to the suburbs, but the idea of having more room and putting down roots was appealing. They went looking, and wound up here.

It’s more house than they need: three bedrooms, lots of space. There’s a yard. They don’t need a yard. It’s actually terrible, they have to pay people to keep it maintained even though they barely use it. It isn’t exactly a usable yard, not a lawn a kid could play in, but it still needs to be kept up. There are bushes that have to be trimmed, which is a hassle. Mikke is lazy enough about getting his hair cut, he didn’t need a house with bushes and a lawn and shit. He had been against buying a house when they started looking. He had been hoping for a condo, or maybe a larger apartment, but the realtor showed them this place, and they more or less fell in love.

Nino fell first, and he fell hard. He does that sometimes. Mikke knows this — he has been subject to this phenomenon. Speaking generally, it’s something he appreciates about his partner. But this was a house. Too much house. A kind of weird looking house. To be honest, it is a very ugly box. Or to be specific, a number of ugly boxes stuck together in an intriguing but still ugly way.

Only it’s beautiful too, modern in a way that’s just their style, and with wonderful view. It feels like home. Mikke didn’t want to admit that. He wanted to keep looking. He knew he could be happy in whatever apartment or condo they found. But this house stopped them.

There’s one road between them and Lake Calhoun. They’re still in the middle of the city, close to downtown, closer to uptown. They’re near restaurants and nightlife. But the lake is right there — nature, right there, water and greenery right outside the window. There are lots of big windows to let the light in. There’s a porch on the roof, and room to entertain if they want to, and a beautiful view from the master bedroom.

They spent a lot of time thinking about it, a lot of time talking about it, but eventually gave in and admitted it was their house. It was meant to be. They moved in before the season started, got all their stuff settled, and started to realize how it really was too much space. Minimalism works as a design choice, but only to a point, and they were pathetic. It’s gotten better since then. They got a second cat and learned to buy artwork. They grew up. They belong here.

Having a house to come home to makes the transition easier. Mikke listens to Nino play with the cats while he puts clothes away. They’ll order-in dinner from their favorite place tonight, think about groceries tomorrow. They’ll take another day to contend with jet lag before captain’s practice starts up. They know what they’re doing by now.

Or at least Mikke likes to think they do. They know more than they did before.

When the team gets back on the ice to start skating together they’re the veterans. Some of the kids around now, hoping to make the team, won’t remember what it was like to skate at Braemar at the end of the summer, only familiar with the practice facility downtown. This place is nice, much better than taking over a high school team’s space, but Mikke almost misses it. The ugly bright green Hornets banners were such a strong reminder of Minnesota hockey. There was no mistaking that rink for anywhere else, no confusion of what they were coming back to. There were always high schoolers hanging around afterwards — Mikke had only been a few years older the first time he had skated there, the summer before the lockout. Such a long time ago now. That was even before Nino had come to Minnesota. So much has changed.

Now they have their own practice rink, banners in their own colors. This is the second year of Zach leading captain’s practice, but Mikke still isn’t used to it. He isn’t used to Mikko’s absence. Zach’s a good captain, as patient and hardworking as he always has been. The C didn’t change what Zach was to this team, it was a sign of the team changing around him.

It’s good to get back on the ice. Mikke’s been skating for a while, with his brother in Helsinki, with Nino in Chur, but it’s better to get back with their guys, with their team. Jonas and Matt keep on cracking each other up in drills, reminding each other of some in joke that they refuse to explain. Mikke has gotten used to ignoring it when they like this, but the prospects haven’t, and it mucks everything up. Mikke has never wished to be in charge more than in times like this, even if glaring at everyone is nearly as effective to get what he wants.

He just wants to skate, for them all to skate, and for it to feel good. He wants to feel optimistic for the season. Now it’s too early to tell. Nino is too busy talking to Elsinger to properly distract him. Kirill is uncharacteristically speechless, staring up at Bjugstad, like the key to a good season is located somewhere up his new line mate’s nose.

When Kirill was a rookie he started the season on Grao’s wing. That height difference had looked silly enough — this will be worse by two inches. Maybe COACH will put them back together, Nino’s chemistry with Elsinger be damned.

As annoying as his teammates might be on the ice, at least when they’re skating they can’t try to show him pictures of their kids and weddings. Catching up on that in the locker room afterwards is painful.

Nino’s good at oooh-ing and awe-ing, in part because it gives him an opportunity to show off the cats, and also he cares about that sort of thing. Mikke hides from it, settling to sit next to Zach, leaning in to ask, “You’re not going to show me pictures of the dogs, are you?”

Zach laughs. “I could. And I could show you the gazebo Ryan put up at the compound, but I’ll spare you.”

“Thank you.” Mikke wonders how many more years will Zach want to be the captain here before the temptation of farming babies gets to him. It won’t be long now. At least one more after this, Mikke hopes. After that maybe it will be time to move on for all of them.

That’s still a long way off.

The only thing Mikke should be thinking about is the season ahead of them. 

Joel has been gone since the last trade deadline, but Mikke still expects to see him. Mikko has been gone for even longer. All of the new faces feel very new. It’s alright now, with a big group of prospects around too, and lots of bodies on the ice, but it will be different once they get down to the real group for the year.

Bjugstad is new, but Mikke’s met him before, even if they’ve never played together. They still won’t be on the ice much together, centering the top two lines. It isn’t clear yet which line of them will be considered the top line, but Mikke knows he can’t let himself care about that. Knowing that and being able to make it true isn’t the same though.

They gave Bjugstad the A that used to be Charlie’s, even though he’s new. He’s a hometown boy, and he’s going to stick around. Bjugstad didn’t have to buy a house when he signed with the Wild, it just meant he didn’t have to leave at the end of the summer. He has several large blonde babies to be proud of, but Mikke didn’t pay much attention to that part of the conversation. He remembers Nino said they were cute kids, but Nino always says that, even when it isn’t true.

Nino is too nice. Mikke loves it, and doesn’t understand it, and knows he could never be like that. He knows how to bite his tongue to hold the mean things back, but he’ll never be nice. Not that he’s ever tried very hard. That’s what he has Nino for.

 

 

They have the usual corporate golf outing the last day before training camp officially begins. It isn’t fun, but over the years it’s gotten comfortable. Mikke knows exactly what is expected from him, and is able to handle it. They even get decent weather this year, after three straight years of rain, including one downpour that scuttled the whole event. They spent the morning drinking coffee in the country club and talking about the risk of the Mississippi flooding. That’s Mikke’s favorite memory of the corporate golf trip.

He misses the awkward speech Mikko used to make before the golf started, even though he is positive Mikko doesn’t miss making it. Zach’s words seem more practiced, less uncomfortable, although that hardly means much. Most things are less uncomfortable than the speeches Mikko used make at the corporate golf event.

This year’s polo’s are mint green. Hideous, but there had been neon in the past, so not the worst. Nino looks unfairly good in his, which seems too tight, as if whoever picked the size hadn’t accounted for Nino’s summer bulk.

Mikke doesn’t mind small talk, even in English. It’s better than serious conversation. He likes talking about golf more than he likes talking about himself. This is one of the boring things he has to do in order to get to the fun parts of playing hockey. In some regards being an athlete is like being an entertainer; there’s a role he is expected to perform. He doesn’t enjoy it, but if that’s what’s necessary to get them on the ice he can deal. He’s an old hand at this sort of bullshit.

The next day they get moving towards the better parts. Camp starts in earnest. It’s two days of physicals, picture taking, and standing around before they get to anything fun. Getting out on the ice at last makes all the standing around worth it. For the first scrimmage Mikke’s on a line with Nino, and Elsinger, the Wild’s first round pick from two years ago.

That had been a bad year. There wasn’t much Mikke could do. He was injured for half of it, only playing fifty odd games, and hurting for some of the ones he did play. It was a frustrating season, but it meant they got this kid, picked sixth overall. 

Elsinger is Swiss, and Nino thinks he’s great. They have a mutual appreciation society. That spring, two years ago, Mikke had gone back to Finland to heal properly, while Nino went to worlds, where Elsinger had made the national team as an undrafted eighteen year old. Improbably, they won gold.

Mikke remembers winning gold with Mikko, after he was drafted, but before he had played in North America. That had been so fucking cool. It’s still one of his favorite hockey memories. It’s something he comes back to when he has to remember that good things come out of crap things. He’s sure Mikko would much rather have been in the playoffs than in Slovakia with him. If the Wild had been better that year they wouldn’t have drafted Brods.

Ups and downs are just a thing that happens. Mikke had to remember that while he was in Helsinki, watching Nino throw himself into Josi’s arms and win without him. 

And last year too, when they didn’t make the playoffs again. It was closer, they were still playing meaningful hockey in April, but it wasn’t enough. The Wild drafted twelfth, and picked a center who’s going for another year of college, not at the captain’s skate, and not worth thinking about.

They both went to worlds that spring, but were in different groups, in different cities, which was probably for the best. Nino lost to Sweden, and Mikke lost to Russia, which is better than the alternative. Nino is a much better loser than Mikke is. Kirill wasn’t there, and Mikke has hated Tarasenko for a long time. Much better than losing to Sweden. He didn’t need a reason to hate a friend, even if he would have gotten over it by the end of the summer — though possibly not before the wedding.

Being in different cities meant things didn’t get weird. Mikke had a good time hanging out with his brother, and Sasha after the Panthers were eliminated. All of Nino’s stories and pictures had this kid in them, along with Josi and Bartschi and the rest.

After that they both went to their respective homelands to see family and recuperate. They spent a week together in July. Usually they’ll chose somewhere interesting to visit, but this summer the decision was made for them, and their vacation aligned with the Swedish half of the Brodin—Skjerseth wedding. 

That was the last time they saw each other before Mikke came for Nino’s birthday.

They have to celebrate Nino’s birthday again now that they’re back in the Cities, do something with the team. Mikke ends up being in responsible for making plans — something about his role as Nino’s partner, one of the parts that doesn’t fit well, one that he doesn’t feel equipped for. It’s easy enough to call Nino’s favorite sushi place downtown and reserve the back room. It should be harder. They should make him work more for this.

They don’t need to issue proper invitations, not when it’s just team and corresponding appendages. Mikke remembers when they were all young, and no one had serious partners, and he didn’t feel responsible for planning Nino’s birthday celebrations.

He’s not saying that was better, just simpler.

Now Matt has Katie, and Jonas has Maja. They’re all very nice. Mikke likes knowing people who he doesn’t play hockey with. Maja’s more interesting than Jonas, or at least Mikke has said this enough times that it seems true. He remembers the first time they were introduced, he said that, “She seems much more interesting than you.” All he knew about Maja was that she had a long Swedish last name, wanted to teach science to schoolchildren, and Jonas couldn’t stop sighing over her. Maja’s older sister was at the bar too, hauled out for trial of getting all their people in one place, and she laughed so hard at that. Agnes is here tonight too. Nino loves talking to her about cats. Mikke likes that she gives Brods nearly as much shit as he does.

In the middle of the meal Mikke gets up to use the restroom, and on his way back to the table he finds their waiter, and asks if it’s possible to bring out something with candles for Nino’s birthday. If he was a better partner he would have planned this in advance — there would be a chocolate cake with red frosting and cursive writing. Twenty-nine candles.

It still turns out well enough. They bring out a sundae with green tea and mango ice cream, and nine candles that shoot off sparks. The whole table sings “Happy Birthday.” Mikke even joins in quietly, letting his voice hide behind all the others.

Mikke would be so embarrassed if their role were reversed, but Nino loves it.

Nino manages to blow all the candles except for out on the first try.

“Well, that’s right, that’s how many boyfriend you have,” Matt says. 

Mikke rolls his eyes, but smiles when Nino puts his arm over his shoulder to pull him closer and say, “One’s all I’ve needed.”

The party breaks up early enough. They aren’t as young as they used to be, except for Elsinger. Mikke doesn’t miss late nights, not when there’s something to look forward to when they get home.

They lock the cats out of the bedroom and fuck. The perfect way to end any night. Their master bedroom was one of the big reasons Mikke agreed to the house. He loves the view of the lake right outside, and the way the moonlight comes in through the big window. He isn’t sure what’s more beautiful than Nino’s skin in the moonlight in this room.

Mikke has to remember the moonlight on Nino’s skin when the house starts to feel overwhelming. It’s far more room than they need. It’s always been too much room, but at the start of the season, after a summer in his little apartment in Helsinki, it seems especially vast.

The extra bedrooms have always been left empty, a space for family to stay when they visit. Markus and Riia came down from Calgary for Christmas their first year in the house. That was the only year they tried to decorate properly, which had been a disaster.

Nino bought tinsel, which the cats enjoyed, and Mikke did not. Riia had told them what groceries to have, and the four of them successfully baked a ham without burning it or the house down. The cookies she made are still the most ambitious baking project attempted in their kitchen. Every year since that they’ve put a wreath on the door and called it good. They haven’t spent a lot of Christmases at home anyway.

The year after that the schedule worked out so nobody wanted to travel, and Nino and Mikke went over to Mikko and Helena’s for Christmas Eve, and then stayed home for Christmas day. They had delivery food and lots of sex. It might be Mikke’s favorite Christmas, though last year was good too, at least by the end.

Last year they went to Quebec City, and Mikke got to meet his nephew for the first time. 

Otto was so small, a plump baby, but still minuscule compared to a real person. 

Riia introduced Otto to them, “This is your uncle Mikke, and your uncle Nino, and they won’t know what to do with you, but they’ll try.”

The whole thing hit Mikke off guard — “Uncle Nino,” and the assumption that they’ll both be around to watch this kid grow up, in for the long haul. None of that was wrong — Mikke liked the sound of it — but it was nothing he thinks about very often.

He tried to push it down, focus on the moment, enjoy the holiday. He knows how to hold a baby, but it’s never something he’s gotten comfortable with, and this was his nephew, he couldn’t fuck it up. 

Watching Nino with a child in his arms was worse. Nino was a natural. He’s always been less awkward with these sorts of things, has always been the right amount of careful. He could be an excellent father

That isn’t what they’re doing with their life. Certainly not now, and nothing they’ve considered for the future, nothing Mikke can imagine. But that day Mikke couldn’t stop thinking about it, as much as it made him afraid. 

He couldn’t simply _say_ anything to Nino, because that would be admitting that he was lost, and besides, he wasn’t sure of the words for what he was feeling. Unsettled, but something more than that. Not unsatisfied with his life, but questioning his own judgement of the situation. He thought he could handle it, figure out what was bothering him, or just squash those feelings down until they went away.

It might have even worked, if it hadn’t also made him quiet, in a way that Nino could recognize meant he wasn’t all right. Nino asked what was wrong, because Nino asks questions like that, and Mikke said nothing, because it was Christmas — his nephew’s first Christmas — and nothing was allowed to be wrong. They could have left it like that.

They did not leave it like that.

It ended with the two of them standing in the snow in Markus’s backyard yelling at each other about how they didn’t want to get married. 

Mikke couldn’t convincingly act normal, and Nino couldn’t stop asking what was wrong and trying to make him feel better. They kept sniping at each other, and Marcus kept on raising his eyebrows and wondering what was up, and eventually it got to be too much.

They went outside because Otto was taking his afternoon nap, and they’re good uncles, even when they’re fighting. When whispering at each other stopped working and it became clear that they needed to shout things out they paired their new Christmas pajamas with snow boots and stomped outside.

“What the hell is your problem?” Mikke asked.

“My problem?” Nino frowned. “You mean how you’re not talking to me? That’s my problem now?”

“Well, yes.” Obviously. “You’re making it into a problem.”

“Am I not allowed to be concerned about you now? Is it this again, really?”

It may be fair to say that Mikke has issues about being coddled, but that wasn’t on his mind at all — at least it hadn’t been.

“What do you mean _this again?_ Can’t you just?” Mikke didn’t even know what to say, and gestured instead.

“No, I can’t just ignore it when you’re upset about something. What kind of shitty boyfriend do you think I am?”

Not a shitty boyfriend at all. That was the problem.

“I don’t want to fight,” Mikke said.

“We don’t have to fight,” Nino offered. “You can tell me what’s going on, and then we can not fight. Whatever you want.”

“It’s Christmas. I don’t want to be doing any of this,” Mikke said.

“Any of what?”

“Shouting at you.”

“So don’t. Just… be calm. Have a nice holiday with your family.”

“You know we’re never going to be like that.” Mikke said. “Never going to settle down and be a storybook or like…” He only sort of knew where to go with this. He didn’t — doesn’t understand that whole world, just knows that it’s something they’re failing to live up to. He knows it’s a failing of theirs — of his — and that it should upset him. He’s heard that it should leave him feeling incomplete, but for some reason, he’s alright. He still worries. Nino deserves every sort of happiness.

Nino stared at him, trying to figure him out. Mikke had to fight the instinct to look away. He must know better than to let Nino intimidate him — they’re past that.

“Do you want kids someday?” Nino asked.

“No,” Mikke said. “We’ve talked about this, you should know this.”

“ _I do know._ I know we’ve talked about this, and we agree, so I don’t know why you’re worrying about anything. You trust me, right?”

“Yeah, I do, but—“

“What?”

“It seems like there are always people with kids, people who are more settled down than us, who seem happy, and…aren’t we supposed to do all that? I don’t want to, but isn’t that what people are supposed to do? Get married and everything.”

Nino shrugged. “Who cares about supposed to. We’re happy, yeah?”

“Yeah, but…” Mikke shrugged. Sometimes he’ll make the mistake of trying to stack up their happiness next to someone else’s and see how they compare. He should know better, but sometimes it’s hard not to ask whether the trophies they’ve worked for would be enough, if it’s alright that they don’t have children or rings, just cats and a shared sock drawer, if their love is strong and true enough when they haven’t made any public declaration in front of any authority.

He should just let himself be happy, but that’s hard. Contentment doesn’t come easily to him. He’s used to working hard and struggling to get anywhere, to needing to prove himself. It would be strange to feel secure in their relationship and the choices they’ve made. Most of the time he does alright. This past Christmas was just something of a struggle.

“We could get married,” Nino offered. It wasn’t a joke either, or the world’s worst proposal. It was true — they could get married if they wanted to. They had that conversation, years ago. They had a romantic moment. Mikke was drunk at the time, but he remembers it well enough. It was _beautiful._

“I am so tired of all the fucking weddings,” Mikke said.

“Me too,” Nino laughed. “Ten years from now, when it’s been ages since a we had a friend get married, and all of their kids are old enough to be flower girls — then maybe we’ll want to get married. Otto could be a ring bearer. There isn’t any hurry.”

That’s what Mikke thought too. They’d talked about it. None of it was surprising, he had just lost track of it for the moment. Sometimes he needs Nino to remind him that there’s nothing wrong with the way they’re happy. 

Mikkke shivered from the cold, and Nino pulled him close. For a moment Mikke let himself be held, resting his head against Nino’s chest.

They do actually know how to have a conversation. Sometimes they just get distracted, and this was one of those times.

“You’d be a good dad,” Mikke said.

Nino shrugged. “I would have been a good plumber too, but I’d rather play hockey with you.”

Mikke bit his lip to stop his smile. 

Standing in the cold, with Nino’s arms around him, there was no where else Mikke would rather be. Sure, sometimes they yell, but that’s because they care. That’s because they’re in love. Mikke was happy to stay still in the snow, allowing himself to be held.

“I’m not glad that you were freaking out about nothing, but I’m glad it was nothing, not something bad.”

“What did you think it was?” Mikke asked.

Nino shrugged.

“I told you my bullshit, you tell me yours.” That’s what partnership means — give and take.

Nino pulled him closer, moved how his hands were sitting on Mikke’s hips, fidgeting. Mikke waited, leaning into Nino’s warmth.

 

“Just — this is your family, and being a part of it means a lot to me, it really does. And then when you go cagey it makes me wonder what you’re thinking about, if you really want me here, as a part of this, or…” Nino shrugged.

 

Mikke felt terrible. That wasn’t what it was about at all. He didn’t want Nino to be worrying about that kind of nonsense. “I really want you here,” Mikke said. “I was caught up in my head, but yeah…always.”

“Then I think we’re going to be fine,” Nino said, which was true. Mikke just had to believe him, to trust their happiness, and stop thinking so hard.

“I liked it when Riia called you Otto’s uncle.”

“Yeah, I liked that too,” Nino said.

“We’re going to be terrible uncles,” Mikke said. “Not a clue what we’re doing, it’ll be a disaster.”

“No, I think we’ll be great,” Nino said decisively. “The most fun.”

“Maybe.” At least they’re going to be trying hard, and at least Mikke won’t have to figure it out all on his own. That was enough to make him admit maybe they wouldn’t be too terrible.

“You know, you could have told me what you were thinking yesterday instead of insisting that there wasn’t anything,” Nino said.

“It wasn’t anything,” Mikke said, pulling far enough away to look up and meet Nino’s eyes. “It would have been fine if you hadn’t picked at it.”

Nino turned his head to the side, considering, unbelieving.

That started them shouting again.

They might have kept going but Riia called them in to eat supper. They were quiet over dinner, but figured things out since then.

They’re making the life they want together. Maybe it isn’t what other people have, not what they’re expected to want, but it’s good. They don’t spend the whole summer together, but that works for them. They have the team, and are good at playing together. The cats love them. They have their house.

Sharing a home is important for them. It’s their space away from the rest of the world. It’s very much a hideaway, in a different part of the city, a different type of life. They even don’t entertain much. They just hang out. It’s a lot of nothing, together, boring except for the company. 

 

 

 

After all the cuts are made the team that’s left heads up north to Duluth for a few days. Things could change, but Mikke can look around the room and start to get a feel for what this year’s group is going to be.

There aren’t a lot of surprises. Elsinger’s still with the team, which is a good sign. He’s done everything to show he deserves a spot in the NHL, playing well in the preseason and keeping up through camp.

This will be Kaapo’s first year as starter, with Duby moving on, but he’s familiar. Mikke trusts him. Mishin makes the team, continuing to impress after his late season call up. He’s a big kid with a big shot, and they’ve got him playing with Sutes, a bit of offense and chaos to go along with how Ryan plays. He’s going to be staying with Kirill’s family again, Russians sticking together. Between Mish and Bjugs the average height of the team is definitely up a few inches.

Mikke can’t remember the first time he heard a rumor that Nick Bjugstad was going to end up on this team — years and years ago, long enough that he’s made his peace with the fanbase wishing for a hometown giant to take his place. Bjugs always played behind Sasha in Florida, Mikke’s going to do good enough that Bjugs will stay stuck behind a Finnish center here.

That’s a petty way to look at it. Having both of them down the middle will be good for the team. Center depth is important if they want to hang with the better teams in the West.

He thinks they’re going to be a good team this year. Or at least a better team than last year, or the year before. He thinks they have a chance. He thinks he likes this team. He can be optimistic for now.

There’s a lot of opportunities to hang out in Duluth, start to “bond.” One night there’s a fire on the lakeshore at their lodge, where they can sit around and shoot the shit, staying up later than they maybe should with practice in the morning. At the end of the night he goes up to the room he’s sharing with Nino, and they fall into bed, Nino taking the side closer to the widow, just like home.

The next day Nino sits next to Elly on the ride back to the Cities, and invites the rookie to stay with them.

Mikke has to sigh. He isn’t upset, or even surprised exactly. It makes sense. It’s the sweet sort of thing Nino would do. They have enough space. He doesn’t have a real argument against it. It’s the kind of thing they should be doing as leaders on this team. 

They _are_ leaders on this team now. No one’s been here longer than Mikke — he and Jonas were rookies the same year, and that was Zach and Ryan’s first year in Minnesota too. He was drafted the year before Jonas, two years before Zach and Ryan signed. No one’s history with the Wild goes back as far as his does. He tries not to examine that thought too closely.

They’re veterans now. They should be capable of looking out for one rookie. 

Mikke is sure they’re going to fuck it up. They are not super functional adults. Not at all. Not even close. They’re slobs. They don’t cook, they don’t clean. They hardly remember to do laundry. They aren’t responsible, not like Mikko, not like Charlie had been, not like Zach and Ryan, not like Bjugs seems to be. Why should they be trusted with a rookie?

Mikke knows it doesn’t work like that.

He lived on his own his first year in North America. He was twenty, turning twenty-one, not nineteen, but still. He managed fine, on his own in Houston, and then in Minnesota. They were all rookies together that year, he and Brods and Charlie and Zuck, all new to it. There was always someone to talk to, going up and down that spring. He wasn’t doing it alone. And once the season started, and he was really in the NHL, Mikko was there looking out for him.

Nino had been an NHL rookie at nineteen, and he doesn’t have many nice things to say about that year, but living with Streit had been good. They’re still close. They always got dinner together before games until Streit retired, and Nino still sees him over the summer.

Billeting a rookie is a good thing they can do to help the team. It shouldn’t be terribly difficult. Elsinger’s nearly twenty, he should be able to look after himself for the most part. They can help him get comfortable with the team, and playing pro in North America. They don’t really cook, and it’s easy enough to order delivery for three instead of two. 

“You’re sure the cats won’t mind it terribly?” Mikke asks. 

“More company would only be good for them,” Nino says. He is the expert.

“I guess that makes sense.”

“They’ll still have the other guest room. It isn’t like we’re taking away all their space.”

“It’d be good for someone to sleep down there, for the bed to get put to use, not just accumulate cat hair.”

“Exactly,” Nino says.

Mikke is going to agree to this. It feels strange, to voluntarily give up some of their privacy, to share their space. He might have a hard time letting other people in. Maybe. But this is a good thing they can do. They can be responsible adults and help their team. At least they can try.

Elsinger moves in with two huge suitcases, and a potted plant, which was apparently a gift from Jonas for making the team. They’ve never had a potted plant before. They’ve never had a rookie before either, but Elsinger should be able to look after himself and probably won’t die. Mikke doesn’t feel as confident about the plant.

“You know you don’t have to keep it,” he says, watching Elly unpack. “Brods gave you a plant to fuck with you, or maybe with me. You can give it back to him, or get rid of it.”

“I like it,” Elly says, smiling. He seems to do that a lot. Nino smiles a lot too, but Mikke mostly knows what that’s about. Maybe it’s a Swiss thing? Probably not.

Being bewildered when other people smile all the time is a Finnish thing, Mikke knows that. More than that, it’s part of who he is.

He thinks smiling all the time may be part of who Elly is. That will take some getting used to. Maybe it’s something Elly will grow out of. He’s still very tall, lanky, growing into his height. He’s taller than Mikke, but not as tall as Nino. He looks so young, messy brown hair, summer freckles, brown eyes. Mikke was never that young, never looked that innocent. If it happened he doesn’t remember it.

It really is an ugly house plant, vibrantly green with waxy leaves that look fake. A fake plant would have been better though, already dead. It’s the only splash of color, sitting on the floor of the spare bedroom that’s Elly’s now.

“You should put that thing on the dresser, then maybe the cats won’t kill it. They’ve never had a houseplant before.”

Elly nods, and scrambles to put it up.

Mikke shakes his head. This is ridiculous. They’re going to be terrible at whatever this is. Nino walks back into the room, with the coat-hangers he had gone looking for, and a smile on his face.

“Oh, the plant looks very nice there, I like it,” he says.

MIkke shakes his head again and wanders off. He doesn’t have time to worry about houseplants, the season starts in a couple days.

 

 

They start the season in California. Elsinger’s first game will come on the road, which means a harder match up, but without the pressure of impressing fans who have been looking forward to seeing him play since he was drafted. The kid looks like he’s going to be sick, which is to be expected.

Mikke has to work to remember his first game. It was January, and the lockout had just ended. It was a home game. He centered Matt Cullen and Devin Setoguchi. They hadn’t gotten the trial of a preseason. There’d been on split squad match, but that hadn’t helped much. His line had been matched against Mikko’s, and he can’t remember if he won a single face-off all night. At least he had been playing before that, his time in the AHL making him more game ready than most of the team.

He scored a goal in his first game. It wasn’t a flashy goal, nothing fit for a highlight reel. He tipped Spug’s shot past Varlomov, a nifty deflection that didn’t look like much. It was good to get it out of the way. He didn’t have to wait, there wasn’t time for the press to speculate. It alleviated a little bit of pressure — not much, but better than nothing. Scoring in his first game made everything that came after the tiniest bit easier. It was still hard. He still wound up on the fourth line later on, scratched for a game, back in Houston for a while, watching the playoffs from the press box at the end of the year before flying back to Helsinki to join the national team. The first goal helped, made him confident that he could play in the NHL, it was just a matter of figuring out how to be effective every night.

Mikke doesn’t know anything about Nino’s first game. He’s never heard about it. Nino would have been barely eighteen, freshly drafted. He played nine games before getting returned to junior. His mess of a rookie year didn’t come until later.

He doesn’t know if Nino’s first NHL game was at home or on the road. Doesn’t know whose line Nino was on. Doesn’t know what happened. Doesn’t really care.

Nino’s first game with the Wild was three years later. He got his first point with the Wild in that game. The two of them set up Brods to score on the power play. They still lost that game, but it had been an alright start.

He think he remembers Mikko taking Nino aside before the start of the game, but he doesn’t know what was said. It might not be a real memory, just something he made up because it makes sense. Mikko would have had something useful to say.

He remembers before his first game, Mikko told him it would be fine, speaking quietly, in Finnish, just to him. That was earlier in the night than this, before warm ups, while they were still getting ready to go out on the ice. Mikko didn’t say much, but hearing that his captain believed in him, that it was going to be alright, made his first shift a little bit easier.

He was more thrilled than terrified that night, but only slightly. He’s always found exhilaration in fear. That’s one of his favorite things about playing hockey: the moment before they step onto the ice, where anything is possible. After a too long summer away the anticipation is killing him.

Tonight should be a hard game, but he’s looking forward to it. They’re going to have to battle. The talk before the game was all about being defensively strong, and being opportunistic scorers. COACH goes through it one last time between the warmup and the game actually starting.

If this was his first game, if he hadn’t played in the league for years, this game would be intimidating. Elsinger’s going to be going out there looking for his first goal, his first point, in an unfriendly building, with Gibson in net. That sounds hard.

He nudges his elbow into Nino’s side. “Tell Elly it’ll be okay.”

“You want me to lie?” Nino asks.

“Sure. Be nice, you’re good at that.”

Nino smiles, but walks over to Elly, puts his hand on the kid’s shoulder, says something in German. It seems like it helps. Elly looks a little bit less like he’s going to puke. They get lined up in the tunnel, waiting to go out on the ice. It’s almost time for puck drop. 

Zach takes the ceremonial face-off. Mikke takes the real one, wins, sends it back to Brods, and then they’re off.

They lose, but it isn’t as bad as it could have been, four-two with the empty net goal. Their line spent a decent amount of the night in the offensive zone, and Bjugs rung one off the crossbar on the power play. A good first night. Eighty-one more to go.

They win the next game against the Kings, and force overtime against the Sharks. Hertl wins it, but getting three points from California is certainly respectable. 

The catchphrase for past the year or so has been “rebuilding on the fly.” Mikke has mostly come to terms with that. This is a team in transition. 

Who knows how many more years Zach and Ryan are going to keep playing? After this their salary drops to nearly nothing in a way that the CBA doesn’t allow anymore. It would be easy for them to walk away and retire. That would mean cap recapture. Mikke doesn’t know the numbers, he tries not to pay attention to things like that, but it wouldn’t be good. It would make it hard to add anyone new, maybe even make it challenging to keep everyone who’s here. Mikke and Nino both have another year on their contracts after this. They don’t need to start worrying.

Mikke can’t imagine the team without Zach and Ryan. They signed after he was drafted, but he was still in Finland then. The version of the team back then was Mikko and Backs and people he never got to know. He supposes it makes sense that Zach and Ryan might be ready to retire and have kids, but he doesn’t see what the hurry is. It can wait.

The very idea of retirement is very strange. It’s far enough away that Mikke can mostly ignore it, but that’s not as easy as it used to be. Someday they’re going to have to make decisions about this — decide how long they can keep playing, as determined by their bodies and willingness to press the issue. And when it’s over they’re going to have to figure out something else to do with their lives. They’re going to have to decide where they want to live, and what they want to do everyday, other than see each other more days than they don’t. Sometimes, when there isn’t anything else to argue about, they talk about where they should retire to. It’s an ongoing debate, which fortunately doesn’t need to be resolved anytime soon. For now home means Minnesota, and their house on the lake. Home means caring about a city that cares about them. 

Home means sanctuary, but it also means pressure. Thankfully, they win the home opener. It’s against the Avs, who are dreadful again, so something would have had to go seriously wrong for them to lose, but anything’s possible. A four-one victory in front of their fans is a good night. 

The team goes out afterwards, because that’s what you do after a win like that.

They watch as Brods talks an unsuspecting Bjugstad into playing pool with him. Poor guy never had a chance. Brods plays innocent as long as he can, not letting on that he’s a natural pool shark that’s spent hours getting even better. Matt’s standing around, in on the joke, trying not to crack up. Bjugstad must be oblivious, or maybe just trusting, because he doesn’t seem to notice anything. Or maybe he just thinks this is how weird they normally are, even when he isn’t getting played. He loses a fair amount of cash before calling it quits.

“You knew how this was gonna go for you, yeah?” Bjugstad asks, still smiling as he hands over the money.

“It’s all angles,” Jonas says, shrugging like that explains anything. 

It’s all fun, but Mikke’s seen this a dozen times before. They’ve had this night before, and it’s nice and all, but so is getting a good night’s sleep.

They aren’t actually old like Zach and Ryan, and they don’t have kids waiting for them at home like Kirill. They don’t have anyone waiting at home for them, except for the cats, who don’t even want them home. They just have each other. There’s nothing stopping them from having a wild time.

Except that they’re boring. Mikke doesn’t like saying so, but it might be true. It’s hardly late when they give up on having fun and head home. 

They drag Elly away from where Mishin has been slipping him drinks, manage to get the tipsy rookie into the back seat, and go home to the cats. They leave Elly with a reminder to drink some water before falling asleep, then head upstairs.

When did they start getting old? They’re only starting to get old. Mikke knows this is only the beginning. It’s only going to get worse from here.

He’s too tired for victory sex. Nino had a goal on the power play, and Mikke might not have set it up, but that just means he had a better view of how hot it was. They should be having fantastic sex after a game like that, not settling into bed and falling asleep with the cats sprawled across their ankles. Mikke swears they used to be more interesting than this.

They make up for it in the morning, getting off together in the shower. That’s good too: the room filled with steam, Nino’s hands in his hair, all of their sounds muffled by the sound of falling water. 

When they finally get downstairs they find Elly poking through the kitchen, clearly searching for breakfast. He springs away from the cupboards when they come in, like he’s afraid of getting caught.

“Anything edible?” Nino asks, a real concern after a road trip. Maybe this is the year they’re going to get better at keeping food in the house. Not likely.

“I could make toast?” Elly offers shyly.

“That would be excellent,” Nino says. Mikke nods in agreement — that’s as good as anything he could come up with. Better probably. He sits next to Nino at the kitchen barstools, watching as Elly putters about, making the three of them toast with cheese and jam. Maybe it isn’t so bad to have a rookie around, not if he’s going to make himself useful.

Elly gets his first point the next game, against the Flames. It’s a secondary assist on a filthy goal Nino scores. Mikke is fucking proud of that pass, from below the goal line, to Nino who’s out front, and puts it in top corner. Beautiful.

After the hugging is all over, and Nino has let go of them both, Mikke is the one who fishes the puck out of the net and bring it over to the bench to make sure it gets to where it needs to go.

The team is going to frame it up and give it to Elly. They do a very nice job. Mikke has the puck from his first goal hanging downstairs. It had spent years sitting in his closet, never making it overseas where he might have done something with it, or more likely, leave it at his parents. When they moved here it got uncovered, and wound up on the wall. They suddenly had so much more space, and had to fill it somehow, which lead to some interesting choices. Mikke doesn’t think he would have hung it up himself, even with all the blank walls, but Nino bought a hammer and had a mission.

Nino’s first points came with the Islanders, so they would be the wrong color for the room. That display is still hanging in his childhood bedroom, along with all the other early mementos. The first time Mikke had visited Chur Nino’s mother had pointed it out on the tour, very proudly with her limited English. 

Maybe Elly will want to hang up his first point puck in his bedroom, to make it seem more his. Nino still has that hammer somewhere.

Elly gets more points. Nino scores more goals. Mikke makes more passes he can be proud of. Kaapo’s having a hot start to the year, which makes everything easier. Mishin doesn’t seem overmatched playing with Sutes. Zach barely seems his age. Bjugstad seems fine. The season rolls on.

They go back on the road for a string of divisional games, familiar opponents. The Central isn’t as absurd as it had been, but it’s still tough. Nashville has finally gotten tired of booing Sutes, except for when he scores, but that isn’t a concern most nights.

Elly sits with them at breakfast to complain about how messy Mish is, and Nino commiserates, complaining about how Mikke snores. He only complains about it on the road though, and it doesn’t actually bother him. At home he complains about how Mikke will find expired milk or moldy leftovers in the fridge and put it back instead of throwing it out. Mikke understands why this makes him terrible to live with, but he also doesn’t like throwing things away.

There’s a box in the guest bedroom closet that he hasn’t opened in eight years. He threw it together cleaning out his place in Houston after his first year in North America. It spent the summer in Mikko’s basement, and went untouched in two different apartments before landing here. It isn’t in the way, but sometimes he thinks about it and feels bad. He shouldn’t need all that junk — he doesn’t even remember what it is, but it must be junk, or he would have missed it at some point.

He doesn’t know how Nino can stand it, putting up with all his crap. Nino doesn’t seem to notice at all. If Nino was the one with pack-rat tendencies Mikke thinks he would have put a stop to it ages ago. 

He’s just making it harder if they ever leave the Cities, if they ever sell the house. He can’t imagine there’s anything in that box he’d want to take back to Finland. If it isn’t worth taking across the ocean it probably isn’t worth holding onto at all. He’s picked up so much crap in his career. Pennants and pucks and postage stamps, though he’s actually proud of those. Mostly it’s garbage. He wonders if he’s been doing this too long. It’s lost some of the novelty.

Mikke’s been doing this for awhile, and so has Nino. They know the rhythms of the NHL season, they know how to handle all the games and the travel. They know about waking up in Arizona, playing a hockey game, flying to sleep in Vegas, playing another hockey game, and then flying to Vancouver and having a two day break before the next game. They’ve had practice. They know how to take care of things while they’re at home, managing to stay on top of laundry, more or less, mostly managing to keep some food in the fridge. They know how to nap absolutely anywhere. It’s an incredibly important skill.

There’s always an adjustment period at the start of the year, a transition from the summer to the uncertain uneven schedule of the preseason, and then to the steady pace of the season. Things start clicking together, lines get chemistry, the team starts to gel. Or if it doesn’t, you find out what you have, and work from there.

It’s all new for Elly. He’s taking to it well enough, but it’s still an adjustment. Mikke would help more, but honestly, it seems like the kid’s taking to it better than he or Nino did when they were rookies, at least so far. It’s a long season, and they’re just getting started.

Elly scores his first goal two weeks later, back on the road again in Dallas. It is a damn fine goal, and Mikke isn’t just saying that because he’s proud of the kid, or because he set it up. It should make the highlight reel for sure. 

Dallas is a good team to score against for the first time. Whatever else there is to say about Dallas games, it’s true there’s always plenty of goals. One season, years ago now, half of Mikke’s goals were scored against the Stars. He scores more than eight goals a year now, regularly getting into the double digits, but that happened once, and he tends to have very good or very bad games against the Stars. This one is more good than not. 

They still lose, because well, they’re the Wild playing in Dallas, and that’s what happens. But Elly’s goal helps, and Bjugs ties it up with two minutes left, so at least they get a point out of Texas, which is better than a lot of nights. Elly can still be happy with his goal and an overtime loss.

The mood is decent on the plane ride, maybe better than it should be after a mediocre road trip ending with an overtime loss. But the whole team is happy for Elly, and everyone’s excited about getting home. Mikke can’t wait to get back to their house, and their cats, and their empty refrigerator. They don’t land until late, and Elly falls asleep in the back seat on the drive home. He looks peaceful, but they wake him up, because that can’t be comfortable. He scored his first NHL goal, and now he gets to sleep in his own bed. How thrilling. Mikke gets to go upstairs with Nino, and they get to sleep in their own bed. How exciting he finds this must say something terrible about how boring he’s gotten. 

With a homestand to look forward to they go grocery shopping, taking Elly with them to the Trader Joe’s on Excelsior. Elly is not impressed by their groceries shopping at all. Mikke doesn’t understand why. They might not cook much, but they do know how to get groceries. They didn’t always, but they’ve figured it out. They mostly buy snack food and frozen things. Bread for toast. The produce section is dangerous, but they have mastered it. 

Nino will hold up something, fruit or vegetable, often things Mikke can’t name in English off the top of his head. He’ll hold it up, turn it over, showing off the color or texture or shape, and say, “Isn’t this beautiful?”

Mikke will nod, because no matter what he thinks it is easier to agree. And then he’ll ask, “What would we do with it?”

Nino never has an answer, and always ends up putting the produce down with a frown on his face. Mikke would feel bad about it, but he used to let Nino bring this stuff home, where it would rot in their fridge, and that got sad. They aren’t the type of people to do anything with an artichoke.

Today it is squash — lovely, bumpy squash in a whole variety of shapes and colors. Nino holds one up. “Look at this,” he says. “Look at the texture here.”

“Amazing.” Mikke is doing his best not to sound sarcastic, but suspects he’s failing.

“The color on the skin is excellent.”

It is a nice color, not that Mikke knows how to judge squash, though neither does Nino. “What would we do with it?” he asks. That is always the question.

“It would be a beautiful centerpiece,” Nino says. “We could have a bowl of squash on the table. It would look nice. Seasonal.”

“Squash just sitting in a bowl?” Mikke asks. He isn’t sure what he thinks of this idea.

Nino nods. “Like cut flowers.”

That seems like a waste of food, but if it would make Nino happy, then maybe…

“You don’t know how to cook a squash?” Elly asks.

“I’m sure we could figure it out, but?” Mikke shrugs. Why bother?

Elly shakes his head sadly. “That’s pathetic.”

Mikke’s sure he had much more respect for his elders when he was a rookie. Or at least he’s sure he was much better at keeping his disrespect to himself, though that may have been the language barrier.

Over the past few weeks Elly has gotten bold enough to tease, which Mikke recognizes is a good thing. It means he’s comfortably settling in on the team. They can’t let him get too full of himself, but if he’s going to feed them, then it’s alright if he gets his way sometimes.

“Fine,” Mikke sighs, as if put upon. “We’ll buy the squash, and you can cook them for us.”

Nino is so excited to chosoe squash to take home with them. Mikke is sure that he knows nothing about how the different kinds taste, and is picking purely on looks, carefully judging each one, with Elly’s help. They switch to German to discuss the subject properly, and Mikke leaves them too it, wandering off to find the items that are actually on their list, like juice and crackers.

The squash sit in a wooden bowl for a week, and then the last night before they leave again Elly makes dinner. He roasts the squash on a baking sheet, and serves it with yogurt and cashews. Mikke and Nino both hover around the kitchen, watching him cook. It doesn’t even look that hard. They could do this. If they wanted to. Which they don’t. 

It is delicious, warm and filling. They sit at the dining room table, which Nino cleared off just for this, and set properly, which they never do. They pour Elly a glass of wine, ignoring American laws. It’s a very nice night, to have their home full of food and laughter. Mikke doesn’t want to leave this for the road.

It is not a great trip. They’ve been better at home this year, which is true for most teams, most years, but they have been especially worse on the road. It’s still early in the year, and hopefully things will change, but they’ve played enough games that patterns are starting to appear. One pattern is that they’re bad on the road. It’s tiring. Mikke likes travel, but losing makes him miss his cats and his bed and his house.

They’ll figure it out, or they won’t. Mikke can only change what’s happening with him on the ice. Their line is doing very well, scoring more than they’re getting scored on, winning the possession battle more often than not. He’s healthy, and playing the way he likes. Nino’s healthy, and playing the way Mikke likes. He just needs the rest of the team to keep up with them.

Halloween comes and goes. There’s a team party, which means Mikke needs to acknowledge the holiday instead of ignoring it the way he’d prefer. Mikke considers arguing that he is too old or too dignified or something to dress up, but Nino likes Halloween, and he likes Nino, so he’ll play along. 

He isn’t going to try very hard though. This year Nino found them both sweaters with “spooky Halloween cats.” The first time they wore matching costumes they weren’t even dating, it was just this thing. They were so young, and didn’t know what they were doing, and it was just — it was interesting. 

Mikke thinks he likes this better. He likes the certainty, the lack of desperation. A party is just a party, not a night of landmines. 

It is a fine enough party if you’re into that kind of thing. Mikke has a love-hate relationship with fun-sized candy bars, in that he loves them more than he wants to. They used to make a much bigger deal of Halloween. It really is a holiday for children.

Elly has spent the last week making a big deal about not telling them anything about the costumes Mish and him dreamed up. Mikke expected it to be terrible, and is not disappointed. The two of them are all youthful bravado in brightly colored tights and super hero capes. They look ridiculous, and get more and more outrageous as the night goes on, making fools of themselves. That’s what being young is for. It’s been years, but every now and then Mikke will bring up those terrible bear costumes to give Brods and Dumba shit. That had been a good party too.

The actual night of the thirty-first they’re playing a game on the road. The crowd in St. Louis is costumed, and more obnoxious than usual. Mikke is happy to send all the ghouls and monsters out into the night deflated after watching a loss.

Maybe some year they’ll be home and free on Halloween night to hand out candy. That’s one part of being a homeowner they haven’t gotten to experience yet. Nino would love it so much, all the little kids in costumes to compliment. Maybe next year, or the year after. At some point, eventually, they’ll get a chance to have that sort of Halloween. There are plenty of Halloweens still ahead of them.

 

 

With the calendar turning to November, Nino starts growing his mustache, an annual tradition that Mikke stopped complaining about long ago. It isn’t so terrible. Nino’s still himself, mustache and all. Mikke doesn’t try, because he’s very blonde, and very bad at growing mustaches. Nino wouldn’t mind, would still consider him attractive, but he would judge himself. He’s an adult. He doesn’t need to grow terrible hair on his face to prove anything.

Elly is not an adult. He’s nineteen. He should not try to grow a mustache.

They’re a week in before Mikke realizes what’s going on, understanding that no, Elly hasn’t been lazy about shaving, he’s doing this on purpose, cultivating a patch of hair above his lip. It’s fairly horrible. Possibly better than Mikke could manage simply because Elly has darker hair, but by no means good. Quite the opposite really.

Mikke pulls Nino aside to discuss it. “Do you think we should stop him?” Mikke asks.

“Why? It’s for a good cause, and it’s fun.”

“It looks appalling.”

“So?”

So shouldn’t they say something so he doesn’t embarrass himself walking around like that? Shouldn’t somebody save him from the idiocy of youth?

Fuck, Mikke’s getting soft in his old age. He’s never had this protective streak about a rookie before. It was only a few years ago that he was delighting in Kirill and Joel’s failures. Maybe it’s that Elly is living under their roof, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s so young, an actual teenager. Whatever it is, Mikke wants it to stop.

“Do you think Elly should be ashamed of his mustache?” Nino asks. “That isn’t very nice of you. Not nice at all.”

No one has ever accused Mikke of being too nice, and no one ever will. He’s nicer to Nino than almost anyone else, but Nino should still know better. He also doesn’t actually want to be mean to their rookie. He wants to do a good job with this — he would want Mikko to be proud of them, if Mikko were to hear about how they handled having a rookie, unlikely considering how Mikko’s very busy being a father in Finland. He doesn’t want anyone to make their rookie sad.

This is embarrassing. “I don’t want other people to make fun of him,” Mikke says, very quietly.

“He’s a tough kid,” Nino says, reminding them both. “He’s going to get chirped, but he can look out for himself.”

“I guess,” Mikke says.

“Plus, it’s Movember, everyone’s mustache is terrible. If you feel like people are giving Elly too much of a hard time start teasing Jonas instead.”

Mikke nods. That’s a good idea. 

Nino smiles, glad they’ve figured it out. 

Mikke would worry about anyone else finding out how soft he’s gotten, but trusts Nino more than that. It’s part of how they work — Mikke is kind to Nino, and Nino doesn’t let anyone else know. He can’t have other people thinking he cares.

 

 

The first stop on their next roadie is Nashville, which means Nino and Elly have plans to get dinner with Josi the night before the game. Mikke is invited as well, and is tempted to tag along just to see what Roman says about Elly’s mustache, but decides against it. He’s had enough awkward dinners with Nino’s friends in Nashville, and probably won’t be able to avoid a meal with Roman when the Preds visit Minnesota. 

Nino comes back to their room half an hour before curfew. He gets ready for bed while telling Mikke all about dinner with Roman and Elly, even though it wasn’t particularly interesting and he knows Mikke doesn’t care very much. Mikke lets him talk, the familiar cadences of gossip floating over him, thinking about how it’ll be better when Nino gets under the cover with the him and they can go to sleep.

The next day’s game is a mess, the way games between the Preds and the Wild sometimes are. Forsberg scores twice — he’s a fucking menace. Mikke hates him, he hates this. It’s a wide open high scoring game, which is not either team’s usual MO, and not how Mikke likes to play. They win, but it’s 5-4, and there are plenty of fuck-ups he’s going to have to watch in video review tomorrow.

And then Denver, which is as always a shitshow. Matt almost fights Landeskog, but the refs break it up before they can really get into it. It’s scoreless after the first. Matt’s blood is still boiling during intermission, swearing a bunch, saying, “Fuck. Someday I’m going to get to punch him in his smug fucking face and no one’s going to stop me.”

Brods pats him on the shoulder consolingly. Mikke doesn’t fight, but he really wants someone to punch Landeskog in the face. He has wanted this for years, and it’s never worked out right.

Matt scores on the powerplay three minutes into the period, and Nino gets a really attractive goal a few minutes later, and they win the game 3-0 with Zach getting the empty-netter. Mikke really would have liked to see Landeskog get punched in the face, but winning is good too.

And then they go and get shutout by Dallas the next night, which is just what happens. Fuck Dallas.

They get home just in time for everyone to get sick. This year’s flu bug isn’t as bad as some years, and so far their household has managed to stay unafflicted. Mikke would like to keep it that way.

Ryan plays through it, but Ryan always plays through it, unless it’s the mumps, or if he’s trying to make some sort of point to Zach. Kirill tries, but throws up between warmups and the game, and the trainers make him stop trying. It’s disgusting.

It’s probably Kirill’s fault that anyone’s got sick. He started feeling bad before anyone else, and he has young kids. Their whole house is probably full of germs. Children are terrible.

There’s a conspiracy to send Mishin home with them after practice. Nino talks to the trainers and Zach, offering a refuge with the hope that if Mish gets out he won’t get sick. Mikke is more concerned about welcoming the plague into their home, but not concerned enough to put up an argument when faced with Nino’s big puppy dog eyes. Also, this is the kind and responsible thing to do.

It’s not like the cats need the bedroom across the hall from Elly. Not really.

Having Mish and Elly both downstairs, staying up late playing video games, reminds Mikke of when they were all younger and living in the same building downtown. They would have ongoing FIFA tournaments, and get dinner all the time. You’d think that they’d want some time apart after being stuck together on the road, but it didn’t work like that. Mikke knows that good things have come along with growing up and spreading out, but some days he gets nostalgic for how things used to be.

Things keep changing. Having Elly and Mish both downstairs is about as close as Mikke is willing to get to having children in the house. Though a real child wouldn’t be able to make breakfast like Elly can, showing off by making pancakes.

“You’ve never make us pancakes before,” Nino complains. He sounds so sad, but Mikke’s pretty sure he’s faking it, almost moaning, “If you really loved us you’d make us pancakes always.” 

“It really isn’t fair,” Mikke agrees. They let Elly live here, he should make them pancakes all the time.

“You’re old,” Elly cooks. “If I cooked for you all the time you’d get fat.”

Nino squawks. Mish laughs so loud that all of their protests get lost. 

It’s a nice morning. It’s nice to have a full house and a good meal. It’s almost enough to make Mikke wonder if they’re missing something, but then he remembers the peace of when it’s just him and Nino at home, and knows that’s better. Some mornings like this thrown in are good for variety, but not what Mikke wants everyday.

The team gets healthy again. Mish goes back to the Kaprizovs. The season wears on. Their yard service takes away fallen leaves. Mikke pretends not to notice that it’s getting colder, but his gloves find their way out of the coat closet and into his pockets. 

They lose the last game before Thanksgiving. By now that is practically tradition. At least this year no one’s hurt. Mikke is thankful for that.

Mikke and Nino’s Thanksgiving tradition is to attend a miserable practice, often getting yelled at or at least scolded, and then spend the afternoon fucking on the couch and ordering takeout. They have been doing this for years. It is a holiday after all, they should do something nice, even if losing the game the night before half-ruins the day.

This year they have a rookie to think about. This is his first American Thanksgiving. It should be special. At least that’s what Nino says.

Mikke spent his first American Thanksgiving in Houston. He was hurt, still looking at two weeks of recovery before he would be back in the lineup, and starting to drive himself mad. Jonas, injured as well, and not expected to play until sometime in January, was just about done putting up with him. Thanksgiving was a much needed break in their routines. It got them talking to other people. Zuck tried to cook a turkey. They watched American football. Mikke tried pumpkin pie for the first time, and learned that it’s disgusting, a conviction that he holds to this day.

Mikke wishes he could send Elly off to one of his American teammates for the day, while observing the holiday in the manner they are accustomed. Unfortunately Nino has other ideas, and all three of them will be attending Thanksgiving and Jonas and Maja’s house.

This will be their first time hosting — their first Thanksgiving since the wedding and the move to a big house in the suburbs. Mikke remembers the first year Jonas was invited to Thanksgiving at Maja’s parents. He came over to their place between practice and the meal, making them postpone their important plans of fucking on the couch. He was so nervous, and kept asking if they thought he was dressed right, if the bottle of wine he was bringing was a good one. Mikke spent five minutes being critical, pretending that he knew things about wine, before Nino called him on his bullshit, cutting in to reassure Brods that he looked fine, that they’d love him. That worked to get rid of him at last. 

Later, Jonas said he was comforted that they served lingonberries instead of cranberries, because while Jonas may have married into an American family, they’re nearly as Swedish as he is. It was so very Minnesotan, Mikke had to laugh.

That was years and years ago. Mikke’s met Maja’s parents, after games, and at the Swedish half of the wedding last summer. They’re perfectly ordinary, not worth all that trepidation. (Unlike Nino’s grandmother, who was very old, only spoke German, and loved her grandson very much. Meeting her was legitimately terrifying.)

Jonas sounds terrified of hosting Thanksgiving, and from the little bit of texting Mikke’s done with Maja, she doesn’t sound much happier with it. She made him promise not to tell her if the turkey is too dry, which he agreed to easily, not knowing how dry or moist turkeys are supposed to be to begin with. He’s sure it will be fine. They’re worrying about nothing.

That’s what they get for settling down and playing house — people expect them to be proper adults.

Nino wants to bring something, because he wants to be a proper adult too. Mikke isn’t going to encourage this, skeptical that their contribution would actually be helpful, but he isn’t going to stomp on Nino’s dreams either. Tuesday afternoon he sits curled against Nino’s side as he texts back and forth with Maja, asking if there’s anything they can bring.

Maja, knowing them, and knowing how useless are, continues to say that it’s fine, just bring themselves. Nino keeps asking. It gets to the point where Mikke, reading the conversation over Nino’s shoulder, starts feeling sorry for his partner. He intercedes, and texts Maja himself, _just let him be helpful so he’ll shut up about it._

The next time Nino’s phone buzzes he looks up smiling. “Maja said we can bring rolls.”

“Exciting.” That’s good — that sounds like something that’s hard to fuck up.

Later in the afternoon Nino takes Elly grocery shopping, while Mikke stays home, correctly guessing that pre-Thanksgiving shopping is something he doesn’t need to experience. They come home looking slightly shocked, with lattes and four different types of bread. It’s the definition of overkill, but at a meal meant for hockey players it probably won’t go to waste.

They lose the game on Wednesday night. It’s against Carolina, and if they have to lose it might as well be to a team in the East. Practice the next morning isn’t that bad, not on the scale of terrible Thanksgiving practices. The three of them go home for a while, to freshen up and pick up all of the bread before heading out to the suburbs.

Mikke still isn’t used to Jonas having a house in the suburbs. He’s a little bit disappointed. It’s so far away from everything. He liked it better when Jonas was just across the hall, and he didn’t even have to put on a jacket to go bother him. Of course, he moved out of Downtown first, but Jonas didn’t need to respond by moving all the way out here. This was uncalled for.

It’s a nice house, if inconvenient. It isn’t especially modern, or especially old fashioned. It’s a house for a family, or it will be. Right now it still seems under furnished and unsettled. They’ll fill it up with kids and shit eventually. At least he assumes that’s the plan.

Mikke doesn’t know what they’re going to do with so much lawn, it seems miserable. Maybe that’s Suter’s influences, or maybe that’s Maja’s green thumb. Right now it’s a lot of dead grass that hasn’t been covered in snow yet.

The house smells good with all the cooking. Mikke is going to stay out of the way. He knows he’s useless in the kitchen, and if Maja wants help doing something within his skill set, like set the table, or pour drinks, she won’t be timid about enlisting his aid. It is better for him to pull Elly out of the way, into the den where they won’t be underfoot. 

Agnes is in there, and her father, the only person watching the football game. Mikke considers trying to follow the game and have a conversation with the old man. That would be polite. But he doesn’t actually want to. It’s easier to listen to Agnes talk about school. Elly is a captive audience for her, new meat that hasn’t heard her speech on the wonder of biology. 

There’s more chaos and noise when Matt and Katie arrive, with three sorts of pie. Katie is even more pregnant than she had been on Halloween, which makes sense, but hardly seems possible. Matt settles her into an armchair with a cup of tea, and the starts paying attention to the football, immediately charming Mr Skjerseth. 

The game ends — there’s another one later, which should be more exciting, if Matt is to be believed — and it’s time to sit down to dinner.

There is a dining room that looks lovely and never used. They gather around the big table, heavy with food. It will be a good meal, if nothing else.

Maja and Agnes’s mother says grace before the meal, which is awkward, but Mikke is used to following along with other people’s traditions. They hold hands around the table, which is uncomfortable, but at least he’s between Nino and Agnes, who aren’t so bad. During the prayer Nino squeezes his hand, and Mikke looks up from the plate which he had been trying to consider in a serious respectful manner. Nino is looking at him, looking quite handsome. Mikke makes a face, which makes Nino smile, and his chest moves like he’s trying not to laugh. Neither of them know what they’re doing here. They don’t usually say prayers before meals. They don’t usually celebrate Thanksgiving. Mikke squeezes Nino’s hand back, so so glad that they’re in this together.

After the prayer is over, and they’re allowed to dig into dinner, Nino’s hand stays there, resting on Mikke’s knee, until he needs both hands to pass a tureen of green beans.

The green beans are very good. All the food is, homemade and hearty. He doesn’t understand the cranberries, which aren’t actually cranberries, but whipped cream and marshmallows overwhelming some sort of fruit. Unsurprisingly, Nino finds this delightful. Turkey and lingonberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, it’s food that’s good enough to have an excuse not to talk. With Nino sitting next to him this is everything Mikke needs.

Towards the end of the meal Maja and Agnes’s mother says that it is time to go around the table and share what they’re thankful for. Apparently this is a family tradition, and cannot be skipped, as dreadful as that sounds. No one is allowed to say hockey.

It isn’t that Mikke has no idea what to say; it’s that he doesn’t want to say any of his ideas. He’s thankful for his team. He’s thankful for this city. He’s thankful their health. He’s very thankful that he has Nino. Could he just say that? He’s thankful for Nino? He _is_ thankful for Nino, and everyone sitting here should know that, should know that they love each other very much. It still seems uncomfortable to say so. It seems private.

Maja and Agnes’s mom goes first. She’s thankful for her beautiful daughters, and the beautiful things they’ve done. Everyone has such nice answers. Mikke might not be paying much attention to what Katie and Matt say, but it seems very sweet. They’re thankful for each other, and god, and family, and the baby on the way that god has blessed them with. Everyone oohs and ahs. 

They’re going around the table, and it’s getting closer and closer to Mikke’s turn, and he isn’t getting any closer to having an answer.

Elly says he’s thankful for the team, and for his first American thanksgiving, and for Nino and Granny letting him live with them. It’s very sweet. Mikke feels slightly sick.

Nino’s up next. Mikke isn’t really worried about his answer, he knows that Nino can handle himself, but he wants it to be something good. He likes watching Nino do wonderful things. As nervous as this whole thing makes him, Nino’s going to make him proud.

Nino takes Mikke’s hand and holds on under the table before he says anything. He takes a sip of water and clears his throat. He talks so fast sometimes, not like he’s in a hurry to get it over, but like he’s excited about what he’s saying. 

Nino says, “I’m so thankful to be here today, with wonderful people, and good food, and our cats at home, all of these wonderful things, and that I have Mikke here as my partner in this.”

Fuck. That’s a really nice thing to say.

Mikke is self aware enough to know that he isn’t always good at hearing nice things. Sometimes it can make him very uncomfortable, especially in a room like this, gathered around a table with so many other people. Somehow he is expected to hear such a nice thing and then move along, put words together himself, which already seemed like quite a challenge.

Mikke isn’t actually sure what he says. He keeps his eyes down, and manages to mumble something about how he’s thankful for their house. No one stares at him like he fucked it up, so it must be an alright answer. It’s accepted, and the baton is passed, to Agnes, who says something smart about the wonder of science and nature and cats that Mikke can’t focus on at all.

He _is_ thankful for their house. That isn’t untrue. What he means though, what really matters, is that it’s _their_ house, their _home, together._ He doubts that specificity was properly conveyed by whatever he said. That’s probably for the best. He doesn’t need all these people to know things about him. Nino squeezed his hand while he was talking, like he appreciated what Mikke was saying, and that’s enough. Nino is the only one who needs to understand.

Maja says something about discovering new things in married life. Brods says he is thankful for plants and sandwiches, which is such bullshit. If Mikke knew crap answers like that were allowed he wouldn’t have worried so much. He could have said practically nothing. He could have been thankful for trees and thai takeaway, which he is thankful for, but didn’t seem to fit the prompt.

It seems like it takes forever, but they get all the way around the table eventually. Mikke helps bring plates into the kitchen, letting Maja tell him what to do. He’d rather do dishes than watch more football. He does wind up back in front of the television eventually, sitting next to Nino with a plate of pie. Even when they celebrate at home they usually have a pie, from the grocery store or something. Pie is the undoubtedly the best part of Thanksgiving.

Spending the day with people he cares about and eating an excellent meal is fine and all. He’s very thankful that he can have days like this. But none of it is better than sitting in bed with Nino and eating pie. That is simply the best.

This is fine too. They eat their pie with everyone else. The team Matt and Mr Skjerseth want to win lose the football game. While they’re in the kitchen Mrs Skjerseth says that Elly is “Such a nice boy,” and that it’s so nice of them to take him in. Mikke nods, and smiles, and takes another piece of pie. Nino steals half of it off his plate, and he can’t bring himself to get upset. He’s getting soft.

It’s a good day, but he’s happy when it’s over. They suffer through the ten thousand goodbyes, in true Minnesotan fashion, which Mikke has come to expect if not understand after years here. He drives them home, Nino in the passenger seat, their rookie in the back. Nino says the cats missed them. Mikke doesn’t believe this, but nods along.

 

He doesn’t really think there’s anything better than this — to have a home with someone he loves, to know it will be here waiting for him whatever happens. That’s the only promise he needs.

 

 

The big foundation dinner is the next week — Mikke has been to so many of these dinners. This one happens every year, so he has done this eight times, and there are so many things like it too. Mikke remembers his rookie year — the evening was thrown together later than usual, delayed like everything else because of the lockout. He and Brods were stuck working the coat check where they wouldn’t have to talk much. He had been bored out of his mind.

He knew it was a good cause, but it seemed so dull, he struggled to care. He can show up and do what’s asked of him, he’s good at that, but he doesn’t always engage. Sometimes showing up and doing what’s asked of him is enough. But he knew this was something that mattered to Mikko, so he didn’t let himself tune out entirely, he tried, kept trying. By now it does mean something. If nothing else it would be routine, but it’s more than that. He likes to think he’s less self centered now than he was at twenty. He cares more about how this team is part of this community — it helps that he’s actually a part of that community now, that he’s lived here for years.

In practice, caring isn’t all that different than just showing up and doing what’s asked of him. He puts on an apron, makes small talk, and signs things for kids. They’re giving back. They’re doing good. He’s ever more slightly satisfied than bored.

Nino is so good at this. He cares so easily, it’s almost frustrating. He will get invested, and want to make everything better, and sometimes there’s nothing he can do, and nothing Mikke can do to change that. A dinner like this is simple enough. It’s all crap small talk, not trying to make kids smile. 

Mikke is glad he isn’t a waiter in real life. He’d be horrible at it. He can pretend for a night, but he’s much better at actually playing hockey. He can’t imagine how much easier his life would be if it was just playing hockey, not all of the other stuff they get asked to do.

Zach makes a speech about what they’re doing, thanking everyone for coming out. Objectively it’s a fine speech, but it still seems like too many words that come together too easily. Captains aren’t supposed to be so comfortable with public speaking, that isn’t what Mikke’s used to. 

He wonders how Bjugstad will do a few years down the line. He’ll probably be fine. He’s so nice, in a way that’s obvious to everyone he meets. That will help. But he’ll bring back a certain sort of awkwardness that’s been missing too, an unpoised air of embarrassment about having everyone listen to him. Maybe Mikke will be around to see how he handles the role and offer judgment. 

They pose for a picture at the end of the night, all lined up in their aprons. Mikke tries to stay on the edges, to stay out of the way. He has to get told not to hide behind anyone taller than him. Brods pushes him to the front very rudely. Matt puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in.

They get told to smile, and Mikke does his best, showing his teeth. He glances over at Nino, who’s grinning easily, almost looking small standing next to Bjugs. Nino has a very nice smile. Mikke doesn’t need to be noticing that right now, but he can’t help himself. 

It’s a good night. Maybe it isn’t Mikke’s favorite thing, but he’s happy to do it, happy to be there, and happy to go home at the end of the night.

They don’t have practice in the morning, so they don’t go straight to sleep. He and Nino sit in bed and watch uninteresting late night tv for a while. There’s an actor promoting a movie that doesn’t look very good, but the interview makes Nino laugh. The musical guest is alright. When they turn it off they have quiet easy sex, and fall asleep tangled together.

 

 

The first snow of the year comes a few days later. It slows the Cities down, making everyone drive carefully, and everything take more time than it should. The arena is slow to fill up that night, even hardy Minnesotans needing to adjust to the weather, trickling in a bit at a time.

They don’t miss much in the first. It’s a sleepy game, scoreless until late in the second. Dumba takes a shot from the point that bounces off bodies and into the net. 

The Kings come hard at the end, but Kaapo is big in net, and they hold on. It’s a controlled low event game — classic Wild hockey. They don’t play like this regularly anymore, but it always seems to show up a couple times a season. Mikke doesn’t love it, but doesn’t mind if they win.

It’s still snowing when they get out of the arena. Mikke leaves the driving to Nino, sitting in the passenger seat, critiquing how terrible other drivers are while Elly stifles his laughter in the backseat. He won’t think it’s so funny when they have to get to practice in this mess in the morning.

Mikke hopes it stops snowing early enough that the plows have time to do their job. They have someone who takes care of their front walk, a necessity considering how much time they spend on the road, but snowfall reminds Mikke how absurd it is that they own a house. It really is too much space, and too much work.

Nino tells Elly that he should go make a snowman in the front yard, but there isn’t really enough snow for that, and hardly enough yard. Elly unconvincingly protests that he is not an actual child, which would have been more believable without the bratty tone, not that Mikke should throw stones. 

If Mikke shoves down the domestic commuter concerns about the snow, he can appreciate how beautiful it is, hiding the city’s dirt under a white blanket. Getting ready for bed he looks out their window, at the park and the lake and the lights of downtown in the distance. It really is lovely. There aren’t many things he likes better than this view. He stands staring out the window until Nino tells him to come to bed.

 

 

Everything gets harder in December. Everyone is sharper, defenses are tightening up. They keep winning, but not as often. 

There’s a long Eastern road trip in the middle of the month. It’s been long enough that Nino doesn’t mind playing the Islanders the way he used to. The move to Brooklyn changed things, and by now he’s played in Minnesota longer than anywhere else. Playing the Islanders means getting dinner with a few old friends, nothing else. He’s proved himself in all the ways that matter.

Still, it would be better if they didn’t lose both games in New York. Mikke would be happy to go home, but the trip is only half over. At least they’re headed South, where even if they can’t get their game together, at least it will be warmer.

They lose in Tampa, but it’s a better lost than the last few. Mish ties the game late, with a shot from the point that surprises everyone when it goes in, the Lightning goalie most of all. 

Kaapo robs Drouin in the dying seconds of the game, and that’s enough to hold on for a point.

They get two days to figure their shit out before playing the Panthers. Practice is serious, and feels productive. COACH isn’t one to mess with lines quickly, but if things don’t get better soon he’ll have to do something.

When they get off the ice everyone wants to talk to Bjugs, which means no one’s trying to talk to him, even though he hasn’t been playing well, and deserves to be scrutinized. Getting ignored isn’t usually this pleasant. The sunshine helps. He has to make sure he doesn’t burn, but it’s warm and bright, so unlike the sludge they left behind.

Sasha loves it here, but he doesn’t like the weather. They get lunch after practice, and Sasha wants to hear all about the snow. Mikke feels at home in Minnesota, but the weather is something that he tolerates. Sasha is absurd. The restaurant he picked is on the water, all blue and beautiful.

Mikke can see why someone would want to live here. This is the sort of place people retire too — maybe they could do that. Except they don’t know anyone other than Sasha, and Nino would complain that he misses the snow. Mikke wouldn’t mind living someplace warm. They could go visit the snow, and that would be more enjoyable than having to live with it all the time.

It would be strange to be back in Helsinki for a long dark Finnish winter. He wonders what it would be like to have a snowy Christmas in the Swiss Alps. Maybe some year they’ll find out — eventually, probably. Though Mikke isn’t sure about going back somewhere familiar when there are so many places he’s never been, whole continents that are still mysteries. 

He’s looking forward to Beijing. The Olympics are coming up fast in the new year. He gossips with Sasha about the national team and their odds in the tournament. As good as they played last time around, he could barely enjoy it. Any time he let himself think about anything other than hockey he was miserable.

The last time he and Nino broke was right before New Year’s that season, and by the time the Olympics came around Mikke was starting to understand just how much he didn’t want to be broken up, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Being away from the Wild was probably good. He had room to breath, and get his head on right, and when they got back to the Cities they started to talk things out and get to where they are now. But at the time the Olympics were exhilaration mixed with a sick feeling in his gut, and it was only fun in bits and pieces.

The medal was good, being single wasn’t. Sleeping with a snowboarder was good, at the time, but going back to his room and feeling guilty was not. This time he wants to be happy and win something.

They lose to the Panthers, and Mikke loses face-off after face-off to Sasha, and almost feels bad about the mean things this makes him say. Maybe he would feel guilty if his insults weren’t making Sasha laugh, or if they weren’t losing. He loses a face-off, and Sasha gets the puck to Huberdeau, who does something ridiculous, creating a lane that wasn’t there, passing the puck back to Sasha, who scores. That’s the first goal of the game.

Bjugs ties it up a few minutes later, and from where Mikke’s sitting on the bench he can hear how conflicted the crowd is about this. They haven’t had time to get used to not enjoying Nick Bjugstad scoring goals. They will, eventually. 

Mishin takes a penalty that he shouldn’t, and Ekblad scores on the power play. Huberdeau scores another, and they don’t have any answer. That’s it. Mikke loses more faceoffs to Sasha as the clock winds down and they try to claw back into the game. It doesn’t work. When final buzzer sounds Mikke is glad that the next time he’s on the ice with Sasha it will be as a teammate, and that they’re going straight from the arena to catch a flight home.

After Florida it’s nice to get back to the winter waiting for them. He sends a picture to Sasha, who will be jealous. Sasha may have won the game, but Mikke gets to come back here to evergreens covered in frost, and ice that Nino gets to chip off their back steps. It’s December, it should feel like December. It should be cold and slightly terrible. They’re getting into the grind of the season. It should be hard.

That makes the soft warm things seem like more of a relief. Mikke wouldn’t be as enthusiastic about the team holiday party if the contrast wasn’t so dramatic.

Matt is dressed up as Santa, for what might be the last time. This time next year he’ll have a kid of his own, and might not be able to disappear behind a terrible fake beard. If Matt’s too busy with a baby next year they’ll have to make a rookie dress up or something. Nino would make a good Santa Clause, though Mikke will never tell him this. Nino would get much too invested, and Mikke doesn’t know if he could handle that. He needs Nino beside him at theses things, standing close so Mikke can whisper mean things about their friends if necessary. 

Everyone’s kids are cute, but he misses Mikko’s kids. Sophie and Kasper knew they could boss him around, and liked him best. These children aren’t as familiar. None of them speak Finnish. Kaapo’s still too young to have kids. Things might be different in a couple years. Mikke’s team holiday party could be very different in a couple years.

Tonight he’s content to stay at the edge of things and have a good time. Nino wants to skate with him, which is ridiculous, they skate together all the time, they’re on the same line right now. But he agrees anyway. And there is something nice about it, to hold Nino’s hand and skate slowly around the edge of the rink. 

They go to Quebec City for Christmas. It isn’t fair to make Markus and Riia with a baby travel for what would only be a couple of days. It means spending too much time in airports, but family is important. They take Nino’s big suitcase out of the closet for the first time since they got back from Europe, and fill it with presents. 

Elly has been invited over to the Kaprizov’s for dinner, and Mikke is sure they’ll look after him. The Russians don’t actually celebrate Christmas on Christmas, but whatever they do will be better than Elly being left alone. It’s a good enough plan that Nino doesn’t feel guilty about leaving him behind. Mikke wouldn’t have felt bad no matter what.

It isn’t the same as Christmas was when they were kids, but they’re starting their own traditions. Riia makes cookies, and there are candles on the table. Lots of presents to open, lots of food. Mikke likes spending holidays with his family, even though he’s still getting used to what that means now.

They come home to the story of how on boxing day Elly and Mish went to the cowboy bar in uptown, and at the end of the night wound up walking home the whole three miles in the snow. Apparently they had fun, but it sounds terrible. Elly sounds so proud of it that Mikke can hardly bring himself to tease about it. Only a little bit.

Later, after Elly has gone to his room, and they’re getting ready for bed, Nino asks, “Remember when we used to dumb shit like that?”

“No,” Mikke says, quite honestly. “We were not that stupid.” They made some unwise decisions when they were younger, but nothing like _that._ Nothing like _walking miles through the snow_ to and from a _cowboy bar.”_

“My first year here, after we got knocked out of playoffs. I don’t remember everything, but…”

That’s a fair point. Mikke only has pieces of that night as well, but from the parts he recalls and the holes in his memory it’s obvious that mistakes were made.

“Yes, but we were very upset. We were acting out. Elly and Mish were just bored, and are proud of what they did.”

“When did you become an old man?” Nino asks, shaking his head.

That is the question; when did they both become old men? Mikke thought he would have noticed it happening, but apparently not. He was too busy. Now he’s as old as Mikko was during his own rookie year, and he isn’t interested in adventures. He aches in new ways. More than ever he cares about getting a good night sleep. At least he isn’t alone in this — Nino’s just as boring as he is, if not worse. Mikke doesn’t think he could have accepted this fate on his own.

 

 

The first game back after Christmas is bad, but it usually is. The second game back after Christmas is better, but still not good. The third game is frankly an embarrassment. Mikke is ready to leave it behind, and get started on a new year.

He has a positive feeling about 2022. 22 is Nino’s lucky number, and over the years Mikke has grown attached to it as well. Twenty-two was a good age for them. The first time Mikke realized he was in love he was twenty-two. He has high hopes for the year.

At the very least entering a new calendar year will be different, hopefully giving them a fresh start to be less disappointing. On New Years eve they have a home game with an early start, and plans for a team party afterwards. If they win the party will be a good time. If they lose at least there will be drinking.

The early start throws off some of their routines, but they still find time to nap after lunch. He and Nino go upstairs, close the curtains, strip down to their boxers, and curl up under the covers. Mikke can’t sleep. This is an hour earlier than they usually nap. He’s used to falling asleep with the sun bright outside his window, but today he doesn’t like it. There are enough things that he does like that he’s still going to lie here, failing at the last nap of twenty-twenty-one. He likes the weight of Nino’s arm around his waist. He likes listening to the way Nino and Mittens’ snoring never quite fall into sync. He likes lying here, in their big bed, in their beautiful bedroom, in their too big house. He likes lying here. It’s restful, even without true sleep. 

The alarm goes off, and he gives up the pretense of rest, rolling over to kiss Nino’s neck until he’s awake enough to start laughing. They get suited up to head to the arena. Nino finds his New Years themed socks, decorated with clocks and bottles of champagne, where they had been hiding in the back of the drawer since last year. Mikke only makes fun of him a little bit for this. 

They get Elly up, and manage to get out of the house. There’s a game to get excited about. Mikke drinks his coffee, and messes with his sticks. Nino sits in the stands and stares at the ice. The team moves around them, and they move around each other comfortably, getting ready for the last match of the calendar year.

It’s a sloppy game all around, but they come up with a win. They could have played better, but Mikke will take this. Flukey goals are better than no goals at all, and their defense wasn’t too horrible. Two points. He isn’t satisfied, but he’ll take it.

There are questions to answer, cool down workouts, showers and protein shakes. And then there is a party to attend.

It is quite a party. Mikke hates parties, but this is alright. This is not a party where he has to say things, he can drink and lean against Nino. Eventually he is drunk enough that he can lose to Brods at pool. By the end of the night he’s drunk enough to be out on the dance floor, with his arms around Nino’d neck, Nino’s hands on his hips, swaying back and forth. 

They kiss at midnight. They’ve kissed at every midnight since they were twenty-one, except for one, but that one doesn’t matter. They’re better now. Right now they’re kissing. Mikke is drunk enough to not feel embarrassed by the display, which is the best sort of midnight kiss.

They dance for a while longer, which is nice enough, for a while, but Mikke didn’t nap right, and he’s played nearly twenty minutes, and he’s quite tired. Today has been exhausting. This year has been exhausting. Last year that is. The first fifteen minutes of this new year has been wonderful, so wonderful, but now it’s time to go home. Mikke loves going home.

They leave Elly with Mish, and a promise that he’ll get to sleep eventually, then get in a cab back back to the house. Mikke likes being in the back of a cab with Nino at the end of a night. They’re too old to kiss in the back of a cab, and even when they were younger they had too much discretion, but Mikke likes to slouch against Nino’s side, with Nino’s arm around him. It makes him feel small, and he’s drunk enough to enjoy that. He likes the way Nino smells, locker room soap and an echo of cologne hanging on his suit. They aren’t home yet, but this is close enough. Sitting close, with Nino’s arm around him, is almost the same thing. He can relax, watching the lights go by as they cut across the Cities on highways before starting to wind around the lakes.

They’re an hour into the year, but he already likes it. He knows it’s too early to say for sure, but this is a good first impression. There’s a feeling of solidity, like plans work and like his fears are irrational, but not in a way that makes him feel crazy, in a way that makes him feel unafraid. He feels like things are going to be right. It’s a misplaced sense of certainty, unearned and uncalled for, when so many things could change.

They get out of the cab, get the key in the lock, eventually, and trip their way up stair and into bed. The cats are feeling very friendly, and Mikke feels friendly too. He hopes their cats have a wonderful new year. May 2022 be a banner year for house cats everywhere, and the cats in their house in particular.

Mikke says this out loud, and Nino agrees with him. Nino agrees with him so often, and Mikke loves to argue, but he loves Nino more. But he will argue when necessary, and he is not a house cat, no matter what Nino says.

“I am not a house cat,” He says, very determinedly, making his words clear, because this is an important point to clarify.

“Maybe not, but close enough,” Nino says.

Mikke shakes his head. His hair goes places. He frowns, and Nino laughs at him.

“Love you kitten,” Nino says, using what Mikke claims is his least favorite pet name. Mikke kisses him instead of complaining. It isn’t midnight anymore, but they can kiss at any hour they want, at any minute, at every minute. They can kiss for the whole next hour, if they can stay awake that long. 

They could fuck, but they’d have to shoo the voyeur cats out of the room, which sounds ambitious. It would take coordination. Maybe it is better just to kiss. Sex tomorrow. They have the rest of the year to have sex. They should get at least another year here together. They might as well spend tonight kissing.

 

The hangover isn’t much fun. They are not as young as they used to be. Even youth wouldn’t help too much, if Elly’s any evidence. Mishin drops him off early in the afternoon, and he looks as bad as they feel. 

They all lie on the sofa and watch TV. Mikke and Elly look sad enough that Nino makes them eggs. They watch Markus’s game against the Lightning, which isn’t a very interesting game, but it’s not like they have anything better to do. Sitting around watching dull hockey is a fine way to kick off the new year.

 

 

January is rough. They lose a lot. It’s almost exclusively losses. The few wins come with bad enough play that it’s hard to feel good about them. They lose at home, and they lose on the road, and go lose at home some more. They beat the Preds, who are leading the division, 5-1, because sometimes that happens. The lose the next one.

Mikke is doing what he can. He’s trying not to be miserable all of the time. It’s a challenge

 

They lose three straight games, get yelled at in practice, and can’t help bringing that home with them. Sitting on the couch talking about what to eat for dinner turns into arguing about hockey. This happens sometimes. 

Well, this happens a lot, they’re almost always arguing about hockey, but most of the time it’s peaceful conversation. Most of the time it’s arguing for the sake of arguing, because that’s how Mikke breaths, and Nino’s gotten used to it. This isn’t like most of the time. This is louder.

Nino says Mikke should shoot more. 

Everyone says Mikke should shoot more. They might be right. Mikke doesn’t want to hear it.

He says that Nino throws the puck away too much, that he doesn’t use his body as well as he could, that he’s soft. He says these things quite loudly. It isn’t really yelling. If they’re going to fight they should at least hide it away in their bedroom, instead of here where there’s an audience, Elly sitting in the kitchen, the cats in the front window.

After throwing out every criticism he can think of anyone making over the years they’ve played together Mikke stomps out of the room. 

He goes upstairs and sits cross-legged on the bed, staring out the window at the ice covered lake. Nino’s right, he should shoot more. He should win more faceoffs. The way he’s been playing lately hasn’t been good enough. He should go downstairs and apologize.

Instead he curls on his side and falls asleep. When he wakes up Nino’s lying beside him, running his fingers through Mikke’s hair. He looks tired.

Mikke closes his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says. He didn’t always know how to say that, but he’s learned — Nino made it worth learning.

“It’s…” Nino’s hand moves away from Mikke’s face like he must be shrugging. It isn’t okay. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Mikke agrees. They will be. 

He opens his eyes. Nino’s looking down at him, looking tired, looking hungry. Mikke reaches up to put his hand on Nino’s neck to pull him down and kiss him, slow and sleepy. Nino settles close to him. They stay like that for a while.

It’s nice to lie in their bed and say nothing. Mikke doesn’t ever want to move. They’re done arguing, they fixed this. It doesn’t seem fair that they have to explain themselves to the rookie, or cook dinner, or play shit hockey games. They deserve nicer things.

The quiet lasts for a while, until Mittens declares it is time for her dinner, yowling and jumping up on the bed with them. None of Nino’s smothering petting is enough, she wants food, and Nino will do anything for her.

By the time Mikke makes it downstairs Nino has already smoothed things over with Elly, at least well enough for now. Apparently they’re letting Elly pick where they’re ordering dinner from to make up for fighting in front of him. It doesn’t seem like much compensation, but he’s happily looking over the options on his phone. Mikke is glad he doesn’t have to say anything to make it better — he would probably only make it worse.

They even let Elly pick a movie to watch, and it’s only slightly terrible. He seems happy, with his plate piled high with DELIVERY FOOD MIKKE IS DISDAINFUL OF, and the sap on the screen. It doesn’t seem as if their fighting has damaged him.

This is why they should never be parents — not the fighting itself, but the failed apology, and the bribery to make it disappear. There are so many other reasons too, but this is part of it. They’re only pretending to be knowledgeable adults, and they can’t keep the act up. Sometimes it slips and they wind up shouting at each other like children. They should know better than now. 

It’s because they’ve known each other so long that this works. Mikke wouldn’t start a yelling match with just anyone. He’s normally far more reserved. He knows he can shout and Nino might shout back and that they’re going to be alright in the morning. Possibly, they’re fucked up.

But they trust each other. 

They care.

He does try to explain himself to Elly at the end of the night, when they’re putting the plates in the dishwasher.

“About earlier…” Mikke really isn’t sure what to say. “Sorry. It’s just something that happens sometimes, when are things are hard. You don’t need to worry or anything.”

“I wasn’t going to worry,” Elly says.

“That’s good. You can just forget it happened.”

“Sure, sure.”

Mikke doesn’t even know why he’s trying. He doesn’t know how he wound up in a situation where he feels the need to explain his relationship with Nino to anyone else. He’s spent years avoiding those sort of conversations, only to find himself initiating one, in his own home even. 

The easiest thing to do is nod at Elly, and leave it lie. Continual self examination is no better than picking away at a scab. He shouldn’t.

He goes up to sleep, no space between him and Nino in their big bed. He’s tired. Nino looks tired. Whatever today was — the prevailing bad mood and eruption it inspired — should all be over by morning.

 

 

Maybe it’ll be good to get on the road for a while. Home is good, but comfort can lead to complacency. Maybe going out east for a week is just what they need. 

They start the trip in Pittsburg, and maybe if they won Mikke would be up for grabbing drinks with Olli afterwards, but they lose, so fuck it. They can catch up in Beijing. Mikke can’t actually remember why anymore, but there was something in a game years ago that made Olli dislike Nino. Of all the people who said unhelpful things about Mikke and Nino being broken up during the last Olympics Olli was the only person saw it as a positive development, which made his comments especially unhelpful. Mikke doesn’t have time for other people’s grudges, only his own. He really would have liked to beat the Pens.

He would have liked to beat the Flyers as well. He’d like to beat anyone at this point. Why is January always so terrible? It isn’t fair. He always tries to start the year off on a good foot, and then this happens, ruining any resolution he might make. He’s given up on making changes in the new year, it’s about surviving.

They go down to D.C. Another loss, but barely. Zach opens the scoring. It feels good, for a while, until things start to fall apart. Their line was is the ice for the turnover that led to the game winner halfway through the third.

Being on the road when they’re losing is miserable. There’s no getting away from it, not really. He can’t go home to the cats. It’s hotel room after hotel room. He has Nino, which is some comfort, but also another human being who he’s expected to share space with. That’s easier if they aren’t losing all the time. 

 

They’re in the middle of the trip when Elly gets sent down. Mikke didn’t really see it coming. He hadn’t let himself think about it. Elly hadn’t been playing great, but that wasn’t the only problem. There were enough things that weren’t working that sending Elly to Iowa didn’t seem like an obvious solution. It’s true, he hadn’t been scoring, but no one has been scoring. His defensive play needs to be sharper, and the minors are a good place to round out that part of your game, Mikke knows this.

It took him a long time to figure things out. His transition to the NHL was anything but seamless. He struggled as a rookie, and for a long time after that off and on.

It took a long time for him to play the game he wanted, to be as good as he knew he could be. He’s played a lot of hockey that he isn’t proud of. A lot of hockey that he wishes was better. There was a movement when he worried that he’d never be able to put it together, a stomach turning thought that he had to push down and struggle past. When he thinks back a lot of the sharp edges have been dulled by time.

Getting older isn’t all bad. He likes the ever increasing distance between now and his worse mistakes. There are things they’ve gotten past.

Elly’s going to be back with the big club soon enough. He’s talented, and dedicated, and very young. He’s going to figure it out. Mikke’s sure he can. These things just take time.

He wonders if he should say something to Elly before he goes, offer some words of support, but he isn’t know what he’d say. He tries to think of something that Mikko had said to him when he was younger, but nothing comes to mind. Mikko wasn’t much for words either. The first time Mikke got sent back to Houston he remembers Mikko put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I’ll see you soon,” like it was a true fact, something obvious and undeniable. That had made him feel better. Mikke doesn’t think he could be so convincing. 

Nino will say something helpful. Nino is good at that. Nino can be unrelentingly positive. Even when Mikke felt the most lost about his own place, Nino never doubted him, or at least Nino never doubted his stubbornness, which was enough to hold onto when he doubted himself. Nino will say the right thing, and Elly will be back up soon, Mikke’s sure of it.

 

 

The last game of the trip is in Raleigh, and it’s warmer there, enough that Nino wants to go on a walk after dinner. It’s just the two of them, and they don’t hold hands or anything, but it’s nice. When it’s warm enough at home they’ll walk around the lake. When they were downtown they used to walk by the river. Tonight they’re just walking around the blocks near the hotel, Nino promising that he won’t get them lost.

They walk, and he listens to Nino talk. Talking through things is part of Nino’s process, something that Mikke doesn’t really understand, but has gotten used to. He can listen.

Elly getting sent down is strange. It’s going to change the way they’ve been going through the season. That can’t be helped.

“It really is what’s best for him right now,” Nino says, “I’m pretty sure. I trust them, that it’s a good decision, that it’s going to help his development, and they’re going to give him all the opportunities he deserves.”

Mikke nods along like this makes sense. It does.

“If you don’t trust the people making the choices, that’s really hard. Then it’s just…” Nino holds his hand out, palm open and empty. “What can you do? It sucks.”

Nino doesn’t talk much about before Minnesota, but that’s where this is coming from, if Mikke was going to guess. “Well, you can whine until they move you to a better team with someone perfect for you to date and play with,” he says.

Nino laughs. “I guess that’s what happened, but I didn’t know what I was going to get.”

No, that surprised Mikke too. It wasn’t whining either, they both know that. Mikke just called it that because he’s a brat, and was trying to make Nino smile.

“Elly’s got it better though. Good management here.” Mikke mostly believes that, trusts them well enough, as much as he’d trust any front office.

“He has us looking out for him.”

That might be helpful. Mikke isn’t sure. “Poor kid.”

Nino laughs.

“Iowa will be good for him,” Mikke repeats. “He can learn down there. He’ll be back soon enough.”

Nino nods. He needs to believe that. Mikke thinks that’s true, but he could argue the contrary just as easily — that they need all the talent they can up here, that Iowa is a mess, that the competition isn’t enough to be a real challenge. He doesn’t know if that’s a good argument, but he could make it. That isn’t what Nino needs to hear. He wants to be reassured. Mikke can do that.

He can, when he wants to, say something that isn’t completely unhelpful. If he really wants to, which isn’t often. But if Nino needs him to be reassuring he’ll try.

Nino keeps talking, until he’s all talked out. They finish their walk, and go up to bed. They win the game against the Hurricanes. It takes forever — seven rounds into the shootout before Matt puts them out of their misery and ends it. 

They get back to the Cities late at night. Mikke drives, while Nino chatters in the passenger seat, so excited to see their cats and the house and their bed. 

In the morning he cleans the fridge. He can’t remember the last time he cleaned the fridge. They didn’t leave many leftovers to mold while they were out of town, the fridge doesn’t really need to be cleaned as thoroughly as this. It just seems like the right thing to do.

He takes the glass parts out and wipes them down and then puts them back in. He doesn’t know if their fridge has ever been cleaned like this before. Maybe at the end of the summer, when they have someone come in and make the place livable again, but they’ve certainly never done this before. They’ve never cleaned the oven either. He wonders if that’s something they’re supposed to have done, but it’s not like they bake enough for it to dirty.

By the time he’s done the insides are shining, and everything is neatly ordered. The condiments are all lined up in the door, beers in the drawer, the box of baking powder returned to its place in the back corner to do whatever it is having a box of baking powder in the fridge is supposed to do. 

Maybe they should cook themselves dinner. They could manage something. They could go to the store and buy vegetables and cook something that’s good for them that looks good on a plate. They won’t, not when there’s delivery or something from the freezer, but maybe that’s what they should do.

Mikke makes Nino take the trash out even though it’s cold and dark because now that he knows how gross and growing those takeaway boxes are he can’t stand having them in the house. He stands in the kitchen, watching out the window as Nino stomps around in his boots and no jacket like an idiot.

They order sushi, and take all the boxes to bed with them, where they watch a movie and fend of the cats. It’s a nice quiet night at home.

The whole house feels so quiet without Elly.

There are still practices to go to. Games to play. Lots of noise, yelling in the stands, bullshitting in the locker room. Mikke has more than enough noise in his life. It’s just the house that’s quieter, with just the two of them puttering around. They don’t need to talk a whole lot, they understand each other well enough. Nino talks to the cats sometimes, muttering to them in German that Mikke doesn’t understand under his breath.

The house used to always be this quiet, their retreat from the noise of the world. Now it feels like something Mikke needs to break. 

George is already asleep on their bed. Mikke grabs Mittens from where she's sleeping on the sunny landing, ignoring the protests as he sets her beside her brother. He takes what he'll need from the bedside table, and closes the door behind him. 

He goes downstairs, where Nino is sitting on the couch. He closes the front curtains, even though there’s still nice light coming in.

Nino is sprawled over the couch, and does not want to be moved. Mikke is not interested in the couch today, that is not his plan. He is nothing if not determined.

“No, up.” He takes Nino’s hand, and pulls until his boyfriend is standing on two feet, capable of following him into the kitchen.

Much better. Nino looks confused. “Are we going to try to cook dinner? I don’t think we should, remember the last time I made us try? You said we were never going to do that again.”

“No, why would I do that?” The burning smell hadn’t gone away for weeks.

Nino still seems confused.

Mikke puts his hand on the back of Nino’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss. Nino goes with it, gets with the program quickly, stepping closer, putting his hands on Mikke, kissing back deeply.

“If you wanted to fuck in the kitchen you could have just asked,” Nino says.

Mikke rolls his eyes. “Fine, I want you to fuck me in the kitchen.” 

Nino smiles, and ducks his head.

“I want you to bend me over the counter and fuck me, how does that sound?” Mikke asks. Nino has always liked it when he’s direct.

“Amazing.”

Nino kisses him, too sweet, still smiling. Mikke kisses back, shoving Nino up against the fridge, ignoring that he can only move Nino like this because Nino lets him.

He can bite Nino’s lip, and tease, until it is too much, and Nino needs to bite back, to push back, using his strength and Mikke’s distraction to make him walking backwards until they bump against the counter. Mikke puts his hands on the granite to pull himself up to sit there. He’s taller than Nino now, and he can wrap his legs around Nino and pull him in.

Nino kisses back, for a while, until he doesn’t. He holds on to Mikke’s hair to pull their faces apart. “Did you have a plan past this?”

“I have lube in my pocket and really would like to get fucked in the kitchen.”

“Sure. It isn’t like we cook in here.”

Mikke nods. Exactly. He knew Nino would understand.

Nino kisses him again. Mikke slips off the counter so he can get the lube out of his jeans pocket and set it on the counter. Nino doesn’t pay attention to that, kisses him again, deep and demanding. Mikke kisses back and holds on. He wants more. He can take it. Nino’s hand slips low on his ass.

“Why are you always teasing?” he complains.

“Because you want me to tease,” Nino says, utter nonsense. He doesn’t want the way Nino’s hand ghosts over his ribs, or how Nino’s teeth drag along his neck without biting down. He doesn’t need it. It doesn’t make him fall apart.

“More,” is all he can think to say.

Nino keeps teasing, another kiss, holding himself just far enough apart that Mikke can’t press back he wants. Mikke has resigned himself to patience when Nino makes a move.

He turns Mikke around, fast. Mikke almost stumbles, but manages to hold on to the counter. Nino pushes his shoulders down, bending him over the island. Mikke widens his stance. It should be clear what he’s offering.

Nino steps close, and Mikke pushes back. He can feel Nino’s hard cock against his ass, trapped between two layers of denim. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” Mikke says.

“You like it when I make you wait,” Nino says.

Nino presses against him. He’s trapped between Nino and the island, he can’t go anywhere. Nino brushes his hair out of the way to kiss the back of his neck. He pulls, just a little bit, not mean, but hard enough to catch Mikke’s attention. That’s teasing too. 

He grinds back, trying to get more friction and goad Nino into action.

Nino reaches around to palm Mikke’s cock over his jeans, fingers trailing over his zipper. “You know I’m hard. You don’t have to play around anymore.”

“But we like this,” Nino says.

“I would like it if you fucked me,” Mikke says.

Nino pops the top button on Mikke’s jeans, and slowly, too slowly, edges down the zipper. He reaches in to stroke Mikke’s cock, almost too roughly with the cotton of his underwear still between them. Mikke doesn’t mean to moan.

Nino’s hand is still in his hair, and he tugs sharply, and Mikke can’t stay quiet. The sound seems to echo against the countertop and tiles. Nino shoves Mikke’s jeans down his hips, and Mikke hurries to step out of them, to show that he’s bare and willing. The room’s cold, and Nino touches him, and he shivers. 

Nino finds the lube on the counter, and puts it to good use. Mikke welcomes it, presses back, hoping that Nino understands it’s fine to hurry without saying so in words. Nino keeps on getting distracted, kissing Mikke’s shoulders and the back of his neck, like it isn’t urgent that he gets his dick inside Mikke, which barely makes sense. Mikke does not need to be teased, and he does not need to be treated gently. He needs to get fucked for real, not just Nino’s fingers playing a poor imitation.

Nino pushes in at last, and this is what Mikke needed, this is what he had been missing. The way they fit together makes Mikke feels full, appreciated. Nino’s hands run up and down his sides, touching him carefully, whispers of how much Nino loves him. At the start it is gentle and slow, and Mikke doesn’t protest, knowing that won’t last.

Nino likes being sweet and tender, but not for long. His thrusts get more forceful, and he holds on to Mikke’s hips. Together they’re starting to get more desperate and less controlled.

Mikke bites his lip because he likes the way it stings, not because there’s any reason to be quiet. They’re alone in the house, and Nino’s heard every noise he might make, there’s no need for self consciousness. He lets himself gasp in reaction to the way Nino drives into him, their skin slapping together.

He lets his overheated skin rest against the cool countertop, pushed into the unforgiving granite. 

“More,” he says, and Nino listens. “Fuck me harder.” He doesn’t know what harder means, doesn’t know what more there could be than this, but he wants it, needs it, is asking for it, and knows Nino will give him everything he wants. They’re fucking good at this. They’re practiced. Nino can take him apart like this, just like this, as long as he doesn’t stop. All Mikke needs from the world is for Nino not to stop. It is that simple.

“Don’t come on the cabinets,” Nino says, a distraction.

Mikke does not care about the cabinets. He doesn’t care about getting things dirty. They can clean, they are going to clean, whether or not he comes on the cabinets.

The way Nino says it though — it’s not an order, he knows better than that. Mikke is bad about doing what he’s told to do, bad at not doing what he’s told not to do. This is different. This is something Nino is asking for. He will try to not come on the cabinets. But Nino is making it very difficult, making him feel very good. He will try to hold back.

Nino becomes less coordinated and more forceful, mutters that he's close. Even with Nino’s rhythm gone to shit he’s still fucking Mikke hard, which is the way he wants to be fucked. Nino is using him to get off, not preoccupied with shared pleasure.

Mikke wants to be the reason Nino comes. For the moment it’s more important than his own orgasm. Getting off great, but he can do that with his own hand. Driving Nino to incoherence is another sort of high, a thrilling power.

The satisfaction he feels when Nino shudders and goes still is one of the great satisfactions life offers. No one else gets that anymore. Nino needs him. 

Mikke basks in his accomplishment. Nino is leaning against him, bonelessly heavy, pressing him against the countertop. Mikke isn’t opposed to being held down, but it isn’t really comfortable. Nino deserves a moment to enjoy himself, but not too long of a moment.

Mikke tries to be patient. Patience has never been his strong suit.

“Are you going to move or am I going to jerk myself onto the cabinets?”

Nino laughs, warm against Mikke’s neck.

“I wasn’t joking, really, I’ll do it.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t joke about that. I can recognize a sincere threat against our cabinetry when I hear it.”

“I bet you can do better than that,” Mikke says.

“Yeah, I bet I can,” Nino says, recognizing a dare when he hears it.

Nino pulls out, which is vaguely uncomfortable, but mostly weird and sticky. Mikke isn’t bothered by that, because it gets him closer to what he wants next. Nino shoves at his shoulder to turn again, so his back’s against the counter, and he goes easily enough.

Nino drops to his knees. Mikke knows the hardwood floor that runs through the lower level isn’t comfortable, but Nino is dedicated, which is appreciated. Nino puts his mouth straight on Mikke’s cock, no fooling around. He must have used up all his need to be ridiculous and tease earlier in the night. 

The blow job is distracting, but Mikke can still feel the come starting to drip down his thighs. At first Nino’s hands are just holding onto his ass, tight enough to be good, but not exactly remarkable. Then Nino starts moving. His grip loosens, but his fingers start exploring where Mikke is open, slick with lube and come.

Nino presses against his rim, not doing much, not doing nearly enough. He’s stretched and ready to take whatever, this is nothing. He wants more, something.

He can’t stand it any longer. He says, “Just fuck me already,” and Nino does.

Nino gets two fingers in him, and fucks him _hard_ , and Nino’s mouth is still on his cock, and this is everything. 

Mikke does not momentarily understand the whole sum of human existance because of an orgams that hits him while leaning against their kitchen cabinets, but it’s something close to that.

The only sound is their breathing, still heavy but evening out. Mikke likes this sort of silence, the peace of it. The two of them can make all the noise he needs in his life, and fall back into the silence that comes after.

They should probably go upstairs. 

They do, eventually. They aren’t moving very fast. They stand under the water together in the master shower, letting it wash them clean.

By the time Mikke’s done toweling his hair dry Nino is already in bed. When he pulls back the covers Mikke discovers that Nino’s still naked. He presses himself against Nino’s skin. Together they fall asleep easily. 

 

 

At practice the next day COACH changes up the lines. Mikke knows that he and Nino aren’t always going to be playing together, he likes playing with other wingers too, but he’s gotten complacent having the same line all fall. 

He’s played a lot of hockey with Zach over the years, and it should be easy enough to remember each other’s tendencies. He isn’t as familiar with PERSON, but they’ll figure it out. Nino will be good with Bjugs and Kirill. They could score a lot of goals together. Someone needs to.

The important thing is that they start winning. What’s best for the team comes first. Mikke is sick of this slump. 

After practice GM pulls him aside, asking if he has a minute to talk. Mikke says yes, and hurries through the rest of his cool down, anxious to find out what’s up.

He sits and listens. He doesn’t expect anything good, and is right about that. He shouldn’t be surprised, but still didn’t expect this conversation already.

With a year left on his contract, there’s a chance he could get moved before the deadline. There’s been calls. He shouldn’t worry, but they don’t want him to be taken off guard if anything were to happen.

Mikke only half pays attention. He’s a great player, but they have to be looking ahead. With the way things are going this year, they have to think about what’s best for the team long term. He thinks this is supposed to be reassuring.

He doesn’t want to be reassured. Nothing GMNAME says is going to reassure him. This was a distant concern that suddenly seems much more immediate.

 

“Don’t think about it,” GM says. “I don’t see anything happening, but I wanted to give you a heads up, and I wanted you to hear this from me.”

 

Mikke nods. He’s going to think about it. He’s going to worry, now that he knows it’s on the table, but he’ll try not to. It’s appreciates the warning. He doesn’t like any of this, but knowing something could be coming is better than the alternative.

GM claps him on the shoulder on his way out the door. Every part of this conversation was more awkward than it needed to be. He’s not going to let himself dwell on it.

“What was that about?” Nino asks on the car ride home.

Mikke shrugs. “Probably nothing.” He turns onto the highway, getting them back to Minneapolis.

They go home and hang around for a while. Mikke lies on the sofa. Mittens lies on his chest, purring and making faces. He plays with his phone and thinks about texting someone. This is the sort of thing he should tell Nino before anyone else. That sounds hard.

His brother wouldn’t say anything helpful. Markus has been traded before, and then left Vancouver for Quebec. Getting traded is something Markus has experience with, one of the rare things he got to go through first. Mikke isn’t going to ask him about it. They get along better when they don’t compare each other’s careers. Markus might have something helpful to say, but it wouldn’t be worth all the bullshit.

Mikko’s probably already asleep. The time difference between here and back home makes it hard to keep in touch, but they text sometimes. Mikko still keeps an eye on the Wild, watches highlights. Mikke and Nino both get texts when they score particularly impressive goals. 

If Mikke needed to talk about something they would find a time to make it happen. Mikko would listen. They’ve never been big talkers, and Mikke doesn’t see that changing now.

Mikko spent his whole career in Minnesota. He never knew anything else, never wanted to. Mikke isn’t sure if that’s for him. There are a lot of possibilities to consider. He doesn’t want to think about it. 

That night they go out for dinner. They have reservations for a place downtown they’ve been meaning to check out. Nino likes reading restaurant reviews in the City Pages. He keeps a list of places for them to try someday, but mostly they wind up ordering takeout from the same three places.

They like going on dates, but that’s easy to forget when staying in is nice too and easier. They started their relationship hanging out in each other’s apartments, playing video games and fooling around. It took time for them to start trying things like going to dinner dates in nice restaurants. It still feels special. They didn’t need this to fall for each other, it’s just icing on top.

Nino’s very handsome when he tries. He’s clean shaven, and his dress shirt is unbuttoned at the neck. He holds the door open, and Mikke won’t let that bother him.

The evening is romantic and all the other things they aren’t usually good at. They don’t share a dessert at the end of the meal. They used to try things like that, that couples are supposed to do, but it always lead to arguments about what to order and who gets the last bite. That isn’t the sort of argument Mikke enjoys — he doesn’t get anything out of it, only less dessert.

They believe in living well. They work hard, and eat healthy most of the time. They deserve to eat sweet things before the drive home.

The sex is good. The sex is almost always good, unless they’re both too tired, but stubborn enough to go for it anyway instead of just collapsing into bed. Even that’s alright, mostly seeming lackluster because Mikke knows how good they can be when they actually try.

Tonight is more than alright. He likes how he can take Nino apart, make Nino need him. He likes it when Nino is desperate, spread out on their big bed. He needs this, the certainty of it, the pleasure. This could be the whole world and he wouldn’t miss anything. That may or may not be true. He wants it to be. 

It would be easier if there was only this, and nothing else. They’re so good at this. Nino’s mouth on his, their skin pressed together, heat and happiness building to release. 

He has a hard time falling asleep later. He should have told Nino about the conversation with GM right away, but he wanted to have a nice night first. There isn’t any harm in keeping it to himself for a day while he gets used to the idea. He doesn’t want to go anywhere, but this losing streak is getting to him.

Maybe change would be good. He loves the Cities, this team. He loves Nino, and their house and their cats. But right now going someplace warm and winning some games doesn’t sound terrible. He isn’t going to let himself think about it too much. He’s grown up enough that he isn’t going to obsess over it the way he would have when he was younger.

Figuring out their last contracts created so much anxiety. They could have pushed for more money, or more term, but doing it like they did made it easy for the Wild to keep both of them. They wound up with matching five year deals, with no trade clauses for the first three. They had their agents talking to each other, and neither of signed anything until they both had offers in front of them. 

They wanted to be here, together. They were making a commitment to stay with this thing, to stay together. Mikke doesn’t regret it for a moment. They’ve had good years together.

But now he isn’t sure what comes next. He feels confident that Nino and him are going to exist no matter what. Their relationship is not about convenience, it’s about them, and wherever they go, they’ll have each other. Mikke is sure of this, which makes it possible to think about what’s best for their careers, not just for their relationship. He’s never asked, but believes Nino sees it the same way.

He wakes up slowly. Nino is wrapped around him, and the lake is outside the window. One cat is sleeping by their heads, the other by their feet. If anything changed he would miss this terribly. He blinks away sleep and the world comes back into focus. He remembers his worries, the things that kept him up too late, the things he should have said already.

He tries to roll over, but Nino makes a noise and pulls him nearer, keeping their hips fit together. Mikke doesn’t want to move away from this.

All the things that need to be said can wait a little longer, until the sun is higher in the sky, leaking through their curtains with more strength. He doesn’t need to hurry. Nothing is actually coming for them, not yet.

He doesn’t fall back to sleep, but he drifts. They settle into morning, blinking at each other. Mikke clears his throat.

“When I talked to GMDUDE yesterday he said I could get moved.” He isn’t going to offer any reassurance, that it probably won’t happen, that they shouldn’t worry. Nino knows all that, and Mikke would feel like a liar repeating it.

“I sort of figured,” Nino says. “There aren’t a lot of things he’d want to talk to you about that you wouldn’t just tell me, and then you were quiet yesterday.”

“You aren’t upset?” About a possible trade, or about not getting told immediately — Mikke isn’t sure which would bother Nino more, but he feels bad about both.

Nino shrugs. “I don’t like it, but I understand it. Whatever happens, we’ll cope.”

Mikke swallows. He hadn’t realized how _upset_ he was just thinking about it. He hadn’t let himself. “Yeah, no matter what, we’ll be fine.”

Nino smiles at him, but still looks sad.

“I would miss you horribly,” Mikke says. That’s the sort of thing he has a hard time saying, but it’s something Nino should hear, so he can try. It doesn’t sound like enough. 

Nino nods. “But we’d figure it out.”

Mikke nods. Whatever happens, they’ll be alright in the end, together in the end. Maybe not next year, maybe not for a few years after, but when it’s all over they’ll have each other. That’s terrifying. He likes it, but it’s scary.

They’ll have to get up and feed the cats soon, but not right now. They can lie in bed together for a little bit longer. Nothing is close to ending.

They’re doing the same things they would have been doing if Mikke hadn’t had a conversation with GMDUDE the day before, the same things they have been doing on days like this for years now. Large parts of their life aren’t very exciting. Mikke likes it that way.

In the afternoon they go to a matinee at the Uptown theater. It’s a Polish murder mystery. The butler did it. At least Mikke is fairly sure that’s what happened? The ending was ambiguous, and he wasn’t following the plot too closely.

They like going to foreign movies in languages neither of them speak. This started years ago when there was a German movie showing at the Lagoon. Nino read about it in the paper and decided he wanted to go. Mikke could have begged off, but this was only a few weeks after they got back together for good, and was perhaps still a bit clingy. He decided to make it a date instead. They got lunch before, and then settled in the dark room to watch the film, mostly empty on a Wednesday afternoon. It was a terrible movie, but one of their better dates.

There was a trailer before the terrible movie for another film, which looked intriguing, and they wound up going to that when it came to the Uptown a few weeks later. Since then it’s become tradition, something the two of them do together.

They like going to movies in the middle of the day because then the theater is emptier, and they don’t feel bad whispering to each other about what they think might be happening. Most of the foreign movies they get an opportunity to see are art movies, not the kind of thing they would usually chose to watch. These films don’t always make sense to begin with, so it’s fine if something is lost in translation.

After the Polish film they go out to dinner, at the same restaurant as the first movie-date years ago. Nino doesn’t think the butler did it, he thinks it was the ex-wife’s sister. This leads to debate over whether the woman with the revolver was the ex-wife’s sister or her new lover that never gets solved despite Nino attempting to look up a plot synopsis on his phone. Mikke doesn’t care, but it’s a fun thing to argue about. He ordered the beef and potatoes, which is excellent, and why they’ve kept on coming back here for years. It bares repeating, they often do not lead an interesting life. 

The Olympics will be exciting, but they have four more games left. Before leaving for Beijing they have to eat all the leftovers in the fridge and suffer through one more road trip with the Wild. They trip starts in Columbus. There’s practice in the morning before they fly out. It’s another flight. It seems quieter without Elly on the plane. Mikke keeps his headphones on and ignores Nino leaning across the aisle to talk to Bjugs.

They check in to the hotel, and have some time to relax before dinner. They’re going out with Erik, who Mikke likes well enough to experience Columbus’s attempt at nightlife. Sometimes Mikke has to convince himself to be sociable. Over the years it’s stopped being an internal dialogue, and become an actual conversation. Nino plays the part of him that knows he’ll enjoy himself if he goes out, and Mikke gives voice to the part that would rather lie in bed.

“It’ll be fun,” Nino says, probably not lying. “You like Erik, and he says this restaurant is good. The two of you can trash talk the rest of us about the Olympics.”

That does sound enjoyable. He was always going to go out, but he likes to have the argument. He likes to be persuaded, and Nino likes convincing him.

They walk from the hotel to the restaurant together. Nino walks too fast, drawing a play in the air for Matt to look at it. Mikke doesn’t try to keep up. He dodges when Brods tries to shove him into a snowbank, then pushes back. Bjugstad refuses to take sides, understanding that this contest goes back long before he showed up. 

Erik’s waiting for them. He looks up from his phone to chirp, “Late as always. Bjugs, you’re a bad influence on this crew.”

Nick tries to defend himself, something about how he’s better than he was in college, and he was never as bad as people made him out to be. It all sounds like a load of crap. 

It’s so weird that Bjugs and Erik know each other, that they knew each other before Mikke really knew either of them. Mikke isn’t sure what came first — him meeting Erik at a prospect camp, or Bjugs and Erik meeting as Gophers, but the two of them were definitely friends first. Mikke was never on the national team with Erik when they were kids, even though they were close to the same age. The year Erik made the WJC team Mikke was out with a concussion. It wasn’t until years later that they played together on the Wild. That he and Erik knew a lot of the same people may have made things more complicated back then. It stuck them with expectations of who they were each supposed to be instead of letting them get to know each other naturally. Or maybe the difficulty all came from who Mikke was as a young man, untrusting to a fault. It doesn’t matter anymore. They’re friends now, have been for years, even on different teams. 

Mikke is older now. He can enjoy dinner with people. This is good. He can relax. This is still just team, or close enough. Nick is team now, and Erik was and will be again soon, for a few weeks anyway.

For now it’s all bullshitting, mocking each other’s skills, small talk and old stories. They trade things they’ve heard about other people they know; they wouldn’t call it gossiping, but that’s what it is. Mikke doesn’t have a lot to add, but that’s alright, they don’t need him to. 

The conversation turns to hockey, eventually, inevitably. That’s what brought them together in the first place. The Jackets haven’t been having a great season, but their last month has been less depressing than the Wild’s losing streak — most things are. Erik isn’t being cruel, not really, but it’s easy for him to point out how this looks like another winter swoon. “I don’t miss that at all,” he says. “There are plenty of things I miss from the Cities, but not sucking all December.”

It’s January now, and they didn’t really start to struggle until after Christmas, but no one’s going to correct him, it’s close enough.

They start talking about chemistry, about who’s playing with who, the various combinations over the years. Erik likes to talk about when he played with Nino because they were very good together. Nino makes whoever he’s playing with better. Mikke’s always appreciated that about Nino, and knows he’s benefited from it over the years. Now Nino’s supposed to be playing with Bjugs in tomorrow night’s game, and that could be interesting too. And then, of course, it has to turn into a competition. 

“Nino, be honest, I’m the best center you’ve ever played with, right?” Erik asks. “Tell the all I’m your favorite.”

Nino shrugs, laughs, and ignores how Mikke takes another forkful of salmon off his plate. It could have ended there.

“No really,” Erik says, “Who’s the best center you’ve ever played with?”

This isn’t fair. This isn’t a good question. Bjugstad is faking offense, and Erik is blustering that he’s the best, hands down, but neither of them really care. Neither of them matter. Mikke doesn’t want to care.

“You’re all great,” Nino says, very diplomatically. That is not the answer Mikke wants. He wants to be told that he is incredible and no one else comes close. He will not hold his breath waiting for Nino’s answer. Nino can be very diplomatic. If he couldn’t, they never would have managed to stay together for so long.

“Playing with you all has been amazing, and I love Granny. But to be honest, the best center I’ve ever played with would be Mikko Koivu? I mean…” Nino shrugs. Mikko’s great. That’s something they all understand.

“He kind of is the best,” Bjugs agrees.

No one sitting around this table is going to argue about that. Mikke actually grew up liking Saku better as a player, but he has learned how not to pick fights, at least some of the time. He can stop himself from picking fights when Nino loves him, and says so casually, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Being loved like that makes him want to remember that he does have manners, even though Nino still loves it when he’s a brat.

Mikke doesn’t even know why they started talking about this. It’s useless.

Matt starts laughing, getting ready for whatever joke he’s about to make. He throws his arm over Jonas’s shoulder and leans close, conspiratorially. “Brods, who’s the best defenseman you’ve ever played with — it’s me, right?” 

“Absolutely,” Jonas says, absolutely deadpan. “I love you.”

Matt giggles. “Playing with you has been one of the great joys of my life.”

“When you’re on the ice with me you light up the world,” Jonas says, and Mikke can recognize how close to cracking up he is, but somehow he’s holding it together. The two of them always encourage each other’s nonsense. It isn’t becoming.

“Does Suter know the two of you feel this way?” Erik asks. “This is what I’m using to chirp him tomorrow, that you like each other more than him. He’ll be heartbroken and won’t be able to play.”

The idea of anything getting to Ryan Suter enough to distract him from the game is outrageous enough to break through Jonas’s faux stoicism.

“Suts would be so confused,” Matt says. “That could almost work just cause he wouldn’t know what you were trying to say. He’d probably, like, just keep on being Mr Emotionless Defense Guy, but he’d get all frowny and shit.”

Jonas regains his composure, affecting a scowl and furrowed brow, solemnly saying, “Don’t try any of that nonsense ya duster,” in what must be a poor imitation of Ryan’s middle American accent. 

“Ya duster,” Matt repeats before falling back into hysterics. 

They think it’s funnier than Mikke does, but that isn’t unusual. How bad Suter is at chirping is an easy target. Hanging out with these guys is an easy night. Mikke is more or less having a good time.

They walk back to the hotel at the end of the night. It’s cold, but Mikke won’t complain, not now. Maybe later, back in his room with Nino he will go on about how ridiculous it was to go walking on such a cold night, but for now he’ll tough it out without comment.

Nino’s walking up front with Jonas and Matt, who have gone back to trying to push each other in the snow, or throw snow at each other, and other such foolery. Mikke is cold enough with getting snow shoved down his back. He is wisely staying away.

He winds up keeping pace with Nick, who has much longer legs, and could be walking much faster, but isn’t. Maybe he’s hanging back to walk with Mikke, a possibility that Mikke finds vaguely condescending. Or maybe he is just slow.

Mikke doesn’t have to like Nick.

Mikke doesn’t like people, as a rule. But he does like Nick. Nick is easy to like. He’s kind, and seems like a genuinely good person. Mikke doesn’t know if he understands any of that, but disliking Nick would take too much work, too much bitterness. Mikke doesn’t want any of that bullshit. He’s grown up too much.

He and Nick have a lot of mutual friends, and they’re on the same team, and they work well together on the power play. Mikke honestly does like him, even though Nick is tall and Minnesotan, two things people will never let go that Mikke isn’t. It would almost be easier to hate Nick, except that Nick’s painfully nice, and Mikke is too contrary to take the easy option.

They can have a friendly conversation walking back to the hotel. Mikke politely asks about Nick’s family, makes the appropriate noises at the appropriate times. Nick asks after their cats. He remembers their names — Mikke hardly understands how that’s possible. Nino is always talking about the cats, but Mikke doesn’t expect anyone to be listening and absorbing information. From anyone else Mikke would think he’s being fucked with, but not Nick. Nick earnestly wants to know how their cats are.

The cats are fine. Mikke really doesn’t have a lot to say about them. That’s alright.

Nick asks about Elly in Iowa, who’s doing alright, as far as Mikke knows. The cat sitter mostly texts updates to Nino, and Elly does as well. Nino isn’t too worried though. Mikke saw that the kid’s racking up points in the AHL.

It was good of Nick to ask.

They get back to their hotel, and Nino is only slightly soggy from the snow. Brods and Dumba are worse. Mikke’s proud and tired.

He’s glad to go to bed with Nino’s snow cold hands pressed against his skin. Tonight was good enough that he feels hopeful for tomorrow. Nino loves him. Maybe tomorrow they won’t lose another hockey game.

 

 

They lose to the Blue Jackets, and it’s ugly. Kappo’s having a bad night, and the rest of the team is trash in front of him. If they can’t score, and they never can, it would help if they could defend, but they can’t right now. They’re getting pushed around, and Mikke doesn’t like it. He’s going to have bruises in the morning.

Seth Jones has only gotten more annoying to play against, even if it’s only twice a season now. Erik’s matched to shut Bjug’s line down, and Mikke is almost insulted, but to be honest his line hasn’t been producing much lately. Neither has Bjug’s though. No one has.

He only takes a couple of face-offs against Erik, who still knows all his tells, and wins them cleanly. He wonders if Bjugs is having the same problem, or if it’s been long enough since college and he’s learned new tricks. This game wasn’t lost on face-offs, but it didn’t help. Face-offs are small defeats within a larger contest, and Mikke would have liked to win something. Not tonight.

The next time he’s on the same ice as Erik, they’ll be wearing the same colors, and it will go better than this. He feels good about that. He wishes he felt as optimistic about the Wild games that come first.

Elly gets called up the next day. He meets the team in time to practice in Detroit, and the lines get shuffled around. They put him and Nino with Bjugs, while Mikke has Zach and Kirill on his wings. This lasts half of a period and two goals against before COACH gets frustrated and mixes things up again. They give him Nino and Elly back, and the three of them get the first goal. Then it’s him and Elly setting Dumba up while Nino parks his big butt in front of Mrazek. Bjugs gets the overtime winner, and the glory, but that just means people want to talk to him after the game.

They fly out to St Louis that night. The next morning Elly and Mish are bugging each other at the breakfast table, just the way things were before. It’s another close game the next night, holding on to win 2-1. 

The last game before the Olympics is in Chicago, and it barely registers. It’s something to get through, then they’ll fly home, then they’ll fly to Beijing. It _is_ an actual hockey game, but it feels more like a waiting room. Maybe that’s why it goes so well.

Maybe Mikke is a much better hockey player, maybe they are a much better team, when there isn’t any thought involved. Mikke has been doing this long enough that it can be automatic. He’s played so many games in Chicago. A Thursday night game against the Hawks is routine, jetting off to China is exciting. 

His line is in the starting line up, out there with Brods and Dumba. He doesn’t get annoyed by the fans shouting through the American anthem anymore, but still thinks it’s stupid. He’s used to the way Nino shifts back and forth beside him. Taking a face-off against Toews at center ice isn’t intimidating anymore, it hasn’t been for years. This is an average night.

Maybe slightly better than average with the way they win. Nino gets a goal, and Elly gets a goal, and Bjugs gets a power play goal, and he has three assists. They beat Chicago 4-2, with Sutes putting one in the empty net immediately after the goalie is pulled, with three full minutes left to play.

Everything works. Mikke doesn’t understand why some nights are like this. Some nights everything works, all their shots go off the crossbar and in, all the scrambles in front of their own net end with saves. If he tries to figure out why he drives himself crazy, trying to pick apart why every night can’t be like this. The better thing to do is take a step back and enjoy it for what it is.

Some nights he struggles with that, but tonight he’s fine, ready to let it go and move on to the next thing. It isn’t a long flight back to the Cities, no one tries to sleep. Mikke sits by the window, with Nino beside him, listening to all the talk, everyone excited about where they’re off to next, national teams or family vacations. 

They land, and go through the silent argument about who’s driving home. Mikke yawns at the wrong moment, and winds up in the passenger seat. He stares out the window into the dark, watching the headlights coming towards them across the divide in the highway. Nino and Elly are talking about the Swiss team, about the friends they’re going to meet up with in a couple days. When they get home they’ll have time to pack, check on the cats, and then it’s off to the next adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the house in the story: http://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3748-W-Calhoun-Pkwy-Minneapolis-MN-55410/1726434_zpid/


End file.
